


A Wandering Dream

by AmdelMari



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Dorian Pavus/Iron Bull hinted, F/M, Family, Fluff, King Alistair and Queen Cousland hinted, Others will be added as they become necessary, Romance, Smut, addiction issues, past sexual trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-03-08 08:51:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 35
Words: 93,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18891265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmdelMari/pseuds/AmdelMari
Summary: The course of love never did run smoothly...A chance encounter during a rather bad storm leaves two strangers with an odd sense of longing.  Pasts entwining, history, and opposite ends of the spectrum could either bring them closer or tear them further away from one another.  One thing is for certain; fate has a plan.





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One  
** **Slipping Into the Deep End**

 

Gravel shifting under boots disturbed the silent night air.  Waves broke over the lake shore rhythmically.  Ale punctuated the evening with its unique, yeasty odor.  Muffled laughter sounded in the distance.  The tiniest hint of metallic clinking could be made out as the young man moved through the lesser traveled area of Redcliffe.  The sound of rope sliding made his feet still and his hand go to his sword handle out of reflex.  A line of clothing shifted then, making the young man release the breath he’d been holding.  He relaxed a fraction and began to search for who was pulling on the clothesline.  He rounded the house he’d been walking alongside and for the second time that night, was brought to a stand-still.  This time, however, was for a completely different reason. 

A lovely young woman, dressed in simple cotton frock with apron tied around her skirts, was pulling the dried clothing in for the night.  She folded each piece and set them into the wicker basket at her feet.  He couldn’t help but admire the elegant curves of her face and her small but calloused hands.  She worked swiftly.  As he stood mesmerized, he could make out the smallest tune being sung just a note off-key.  Golden strands of curly hair attempted to escape the chignon her hair was pulled back into causing her to pause every so often to tuck an errand stray back into place.  It was then he noticed her tapered ears.  Not fully extended as other Dalish.  Pointed yet also blunted.  Perhaps she was of half-blood then?  It didn’t matter.  He was stricken.  She turned and spotted him standing in the shadows. 

A gasp echoed around as she dropped the basket she’d just been reaching for.  Her eyes slid to his right hand and she fell back upon her backside.  She held up an arm in terror as she scrambled back a few paces.

“P-please, ser!”

He frowned at her and stepped forward only to realize her fear.  He could have slapped himself.  He quickly sheathed his blade and held up his hands in a show of peace.  “I’m not going to harm you, miss.”

“S-says the man approaching from the shadows with a blade drawn!”

How could he be so careless?  He stepped further into the dim light cast from the house.  “Forgive me.  I wasn’t thinking.  I heard a sound and came to investigate.”

She stopped shrinking back and studied his armor.  “You’re a templar.”

“Yes.  I am.”

“What is a templar doing, skulking in the shadows?” She huffed, moving to her feet finally.  Dusting her skirts free of the detritus she’d been lying upon.

“I…” He sighed, “have no decent answer for you.  I was returning back to the docks and I heard a sound.  I meant no harm.  Nor to frighten you.”

“Well.  You did just that.  My master is going to be very put upon when he sees this mess,” she sighed as she picked up the now overturned basket of clothing. 

He winced as he moved to help her gather the pieces of cloth.  “Forgive me.”

“Already forgiven.”

He looked up into the most stunning pair of deep, nearly purple-blue eyes.  No doubt from her Dalish blood.  A becoming flush colored her cheeks.  He felt a silly smile take over his lips.  “I am very grateful to hear that.”

“Are all you templars this silly?  Walking about at night, terrifying young lasses witless?”

“I would hope not.”

She laughed, the sound warming him.  “Well then, aren’t you just the unlucky one?”

“Or the luckiest of them all.”

Those large eyes blinked a few times before she ducked her head with a bashful expression.  “You’re dangerously flirtation, ser knight.”

He felt his own cheeks heat.  “I’m not usually.  What’s your name?”

She looked up again, glancing at the door as though warring with herself.  “I should go back in, ser knight.  Tis late and my master—”

“I only ask for your name, miss.  Nothing more.”

Biting her lip, she glanced back at him before she rose quickly and darted for the house.  He felt his heart fall as he rose to watch her disappear.  She paused, however, in the doorway and looked back at him. 

“Heliana,” she called back, “and you, ser knight?”

“Greagoir.”

The tiniest hint of a smile showed on her petal soft looking lips as she stepped into the house.  “Good evening, Ser Greagoir.”

The door shut and he stood in the dimly lit back courtyard of some stranger’s home with a dumb smile upon his face.  His walk back to the docks was far less dismal and lonesome this time. 

…..

Heliana sighed as his mouth trailed over her neck again.  “Greagoir…we have to go…we’ll be missed.”

“I know…” He sighed, letting his forehead touch hers.  “I just want this to last a bit longer.”

“I as well, but your duties come first.  You know that, my love.”

He smiled at her, cupping the distended belly between them.  “Just another moment.  I need to say my farewells to the little one.”

Heliana rolled her eyes but still giggled as he knelt and kissed her swollen abdomen.  He murmured into her flesh, nuzzling his nose there.  That was precisely when the little rascal within kicked.  Greagoir pulled back with a stunned look before laughing.

“Did you see that Lia?  They kicked my nose!”

Heliana snickered and shook her head.  “They know how to handle you already.”

“You tease but you love me.”

“I do.  Maker only knows why,” she sighed dramatically before they shared another kiss.  He pulled away and ducked away carefully so as not to be seen leaving their little private nook they’d found for their special meetings.  As far as her master knew, she’d been intimate with a stable boy.  Her master was very unhappy when she began to show.  But that had really been the most of it.  He was old and hardly had the energy to care much about what she did outside of her duties as long as she did them in a timely fashion. 

The waddle back to her master’s home was uneventful.  She was just at the threshold of the steps when she felt a warm trickle down her thighs.  Her heart suddenly sped up.  It was time. 

Hours passed and sometime in the late evening, the local healer handed over her precious newborn babe.  A little girl.  When asked what her name was to be, Heliana remembered a name Greagoir had tossed out once when they’d been discussing names months ago.  It was perfect and she fell in love with the name as she stroked her daughter’s face.

…..

“Moira!  Wait!”

Heliana growled under her breath about ungrateful children and fast legs as they headed for the woods just outside of Redcliffe’s gates.  Her letter was tucked safely in her bodice as the little five-year-old ran like the little hellion she was, ahead of Heliana.  The giggles that came from the little rascal filled her with such joy.  However, her heart stopped the moment she spotted a man’s figure hiding behind a tree up ahead.  She began to run after Moira.

“Moira!”

Moira glanced back at her just as the man jumped out.  Heliana nearly screamed as the man grasped her child.  It lodged in her throat however as he fell to the ground in a heap of giggles and peals of squeals.  Moira wiggled and writhes as she was tickled relentlessly.

“Papa!!!  N-no!!  N-no t-t-tickles!!” Moira barely stuttered around her raucous laughter.

“What?!  No tickles?!  Since when?” Greagoir sat back on his calves, frowning playfully.

“Since I grewed up!” Moira huffed, moving to mirror her daddy’s posture. 

“You grewed up?  In a month?  What _else_ have I missed, eh, scamp?” Greagoir reached out to ruffle his daughter’s hair affectionately. 

“Nothing too grand.” Heliana placated him, hearing the underlying guilt in his voice.  “Your duties haven’t kept you from anything momentous.”

“’cept I lost a tooth!”

Greagoir looked over at Moira.  “You lost a tooth?  How?”

“She tried to fight the stable boy’s son.”

“…really now?”

Moira grinned widely, proudly showing off the small gap from where she’d lost her tooth.  “I socked ‘im real good, papa!”

“Scamp, you shouldn’t take pride in fighting with others.  A means to an end.  There must be a good reason to fight.” Greagoir patiently scolded the girl.

Moira looked down, properly chastised, scuffing her tiny slippered foot in the dirt.  “He started it…”

“And you must always be the stronger in patience, wisdom, and action.”

Moira nodded solemnly.  Greagoir sighed and ruffled her hair once more.  She looked up through her hair with a smile at her papa.  Heliana waited until he stood and made his way over to her.  They embraced and she inhaled the scent of lyrium, embrium, and peppermint.  A unique mixture that was wholesomely Greagoir. 

“I heard your master is upon his deathbed.”

“Yes.  His son has returned to the house to manage his estate.  For the time being, I believe my station will remain.  He hasn’t fired or demanded any of us leave.  But time will tell.”

“I have been praying.”

Heliana smiled, “good.  It wouldn’t do for a templar _not_ to pray.”

“You jest at me so,” Greagoir chuckled into her hair as Moira went about the clearing, cartwheeling, summersaulting, and plucking various weeds and flowers.  “She’s bigger every time I see her.”

“Children do that.  They grow.”

“Yes, but so fast?”

“Faster than we can imagine.”

“What if I—”

“Don’t even start with that again.” Heliana groused, pulling away from him.  “You will _not_ leave the Order.  It is your dream, your desire, your very…essence, Greagoir.  You mustn’t let even _us_ sway you from your calling.  Andraste called you to this life.”

“I fear that I am not as good a man as you seem to believe.”

“Then your fear is misplaced.  You took no vows of chastity.  You have upheld your vows stupendously.”

“Yet I leave an unwed lover and a child fatherless the majority of the time.”

“She is _not_ fatherless.  You come whenever you can!  What more could anyone ask of you?”

“You could ask me.”

“And I won’t be the reason you break your vows to Andraste.”

Greagoir stared at her and she simply glared him back down.  He sighed and nodded, conceding as he always did.  They both knew it was true.  She knew if he did forsake his vows, one day…he’d grow to resent that choice.  Being a templar was what he was _meant_ to be.  She could never stand in the way of that.  Moira didn’t want for anything with a small stipend he sent every month.  Moira didn’t even grouse or fuss about him not being around.  Quite the contrary, she was exceedingly proud of that her papa was a strong templar.  They took their time in the field, playing, relaxing, and spending a day together.  By the time the sun began to dip below the horizon, Heliana hefted Moira upon her back for the trek back home.  Greagoir tucked some of the little girl’s brown curls back behind her ear as they walked.

“If something should change with your station, send word to me immediately.  I can find you another home to work in.”

“I will.”

At the edge of the village they parted with a chaste kiss.  Heliana made the rest of the travel home.  As she neared her master’s home, she knew something was amiss.  All the lights were on and many people mulled around inside the house and front courtyard.  She skirted around to the back servant’s quarters and slipped inside.  Setting Moira in her little bed, tucking her in, she headed back into the main house.  Different passerby paid her no heed as over the next two hours they came and left.  She knew then that her master had passed.  Slowly trickling out until only two other servants, Heliana, and the master’s son were left.  She gathered the mess the mourning visitors had left behind.  The other two servants retired at her behest.  They’d been dealing with the chaos far longer than she as it _had_ been her day of rest.  Tucking the last stray bit of debris away, she planted her hands on her hips.  With a soft sigh, she decided upon going to see her now deceased master.  He’d been fairly kind to her.  It was the least she could do.  She knocked once and slipped into the room.  She was the only one in there so she left the door open in case someone passed by. 

“May Andraste take you to her side.” She whispered and bowed her head.  She turned and left the room to return to her own quarters.  As she passed by the guest quarters, she was stopped by her master’s son as he stepped into her path.

“Aren’t you the lovely one?”

Heliana carefully schooled her expression into blank neutrality.  “Thank you, ser.  But I am just a simple maid.”

“Good enough for me.”

She had averted her gaze to the floor as was customary of servants.  She frowned and looked up.  He was upon her in a moment.  She cried out in alarm as he grabbed her roughly, shoving her against the wall.  He attempted to kiss her and she turned her head aside.  Trying to push him away, she could hear her futile cries echoing down the hall. 

“Please, ser!  No!”

“You’re _my_ servant, now _serve_ me!” He snarled in her face, slapping her hard enough to see stars.

“Mommy?”

Heliana’s world turned to ice.  She turned wide eyes to Moira, standing in the hall, rubbing her little eyes in sleepy confusion.

The man turned to look at Moira then back.  He snarled at Moira, “go back to bed, cretin.  Mommy’s busy tonight.”

Heliana pushed at him.  He shoved her harder against the wall.  Moira made a small gasp before she ran across the house and began to hit the man with her tiny fists.  The man turned and backhanded Moira so hard she hit the floor and skid.  Heliana felt her blood cool and then heat simultaneously.  She snatched the expensive Orlesian vase from the table beside them and slammed it over his head.  He stumbled back and she pounced upon him in a blind rage.  He hurt her baby.  He would pay.  It was that simple in her enraged state.  She continued to smash the pottery into his face until she was coated in red up to her elbows.  When she came to her senses, she dropped the surprisingly sturdy vase and scrambled away from the bloodied mess she’d made. 

Terror. 

Cold, complete, utter terror overcame her.  Once she was found to have _murdered_ a nobleman or at least a man of money…she would be sent to the prison.  Moira would be taken away.  Greagoir couldn’t be associated with her lest his career suffer for it.  No.  She rose quickly and rushed to Moira.  She gently shook her baby girl.  Moira blinked up at her, a whimper then a soft cry, and she was in Heliana’s arms. 

“Are you all right, my little bird?”

“I-I’m…all right.” Moira sniffled. 

“Close your eyes, love.  Don’t look until I say so, okay?”

“O-okay.”

Heliana checked to make sure Moira was listening before she lifted her child and rushed for the servant’s quarters.  She made note the other two were sound asleep.  Thank the Maker for small miracles.  She set Moira down and scrubbed her hands of the blood quickly before changing and cramming a bag full of clothing and supplies.  She sent a prayer for forgiveness up to the Maker’s Bride and stole part of the coin from her two fellow servants as well as taking all of the stipend and bit she’d made and been stashing.  She tucked Moira into a large cloak and flung another around her own shoulders.  They then ran.  She made it to the docks and found one lone dock hand of a fishing boat.

“Where are you sailing and when?”

“’Bout to set sail now, actually.  Up to the channel north of here.”

“How much for safe passage?”

The man frowned down at her and Moira who stood, hiding behind her mother’s legs. 

“You runnin’ from something?”

“Does it matter?” She shook a bag of coin for emphasis.

The man nodded and took it.  “Climb aboard, miss.  Below deck’s the best bet for safety.”

“Thank you.” Heliana plucked Moira up and took his advice, heading below deck and hiding behind crates of goods.  It didn’t take long before she felt them take off from the docks.  She didn’t stop fretting until a good hour of sailing had passed.  She then buried her face in Moira’s hair and sobbed silently.  She’d just ruined Moira’s life.  What kind of a mother did that?  She also just robbed Moira of her father.  There was no way she could contact him _now_.  Not for his sake.  Moira, for all of her quietness, reached up and held her mother as she wept.

“It’ll be okay, momma.  It’ll be okay…”

If only Moira could be right.  Nothing would be okay again.  Heliana just hoped that their journey from Lake Calenhad to the coast where a large system of docks laid along the shores.  That’s where they would leave Ferelden behind.

…..

Her blade was strong and able!  The demons and foes fell at her feet with each mighty swoop of her sword!  Her templar armor was tried and true!  That there…movement…that crow would rue the day it crossed Ser Moira the Great!  Not even this tall grass would hide the beast from her now! 

Moira swung the twig that was just about as long as her arm.  The now six-year-old played out in the tall, grassy field just along the main road of the town they’d settled in.  Markham was just a simple two-hour ride by horse or carriage away.  The simple farmsteads that rolled over the hills here were fantastic for an actively imaginative little girl.  The Chantry here was fairly active as well.  The city guards were mostly friendly. 

In her active state, Moira wasn’t paying much heed to her surroundings.  She parried a strike from her imaginary foe.  Stabbing the stick forward, she jumped a stride before her as well.  The stick lit ablaze in her hand.  A sharp cry of dismay exploded from her as she threw the stick into the field of grass.  Her eyes went huge like saucers as she realized her mistake.  Horse hoofbeats rushed up.  A huge bucket of water doused the flames before they could take off.  Moira turned toward the adults; shame written on her face.  She didn’t mean to do that.  She didn’t even understand _how_ she did that.  Two city guards grasped her by her upper arms roughly and began to haul her from the field.  She yelped in pain and tried to pull away.  Their grips got painfully tight.  She began to cry.  Her tears rolling freely down her face.  She was scared.  What did she do?  Was she going to get a firm scolding?  She wanted her momma. 

Momma’s voice called out shrilly.  Moira turned to try and see her.  She barely caught sight of her momma rushing after them only to be stopped by the city guard who’d doused the flames.  Momma screamed and reached for her, fighting to get past the guard.  Moira felt actual terror then.  Momma couldn’t get to her.  This wasn’t right.  She began to kick and flail and scream.  Anything to get away.  The men dragged her, none-the-less, to the Chantry.  They stopped before the Chantry where the sister came out.  

“What’s this?”

“A mageling.”

“Oh, Maker…” The sister looked at Moira like she was displeased.  “I’ll be right back.”

Moira waited, trembling as the sister disappeared and reappeared a few minutes later. 

“They’ll be right around.” The sister spoke.

The rattling of a carriage made Moira cringe.  The guards turned and shoved her into the awaiting carriage.  Moira tried to run out only to be shoved back in roughly.  The back was slammed shut with a cage-like door.  She grasped the bars, spotting her momma running across the field.  The carriage jolted and began to move quickly.  Momma chased it until she fell in the road, still reaching for Moira.  Moira reached back through the bars, wailing like a babe as momma faded from her sight.  She eventually slid back until her back was pressed to the back of the carriage.  She hugged her little knees and shivered endlessly.  Whenever she fell asleep, she couldn’t tell.  She was woken roughly as she was yanked from the back of the carriage.  She yelped and recoiled.  That earned her a sharp smack on her back.  They yanked her from the carriage again and dragged her up a long drive and set of stairs.  She looked up at the intimidating tower looming over her like a hungry giant.  She was led into the tower and through a long corridor before it opened into a courtyard. 

A man in templar armor approached.  The men holding her shoved her forward onto her feet.

“New mageling for you.”

The templar sighed as he came to a stop.  Moira fled the men who’d hurt her and darted up to the templar, wrapping her tiny arms around his thigh.  The instant safety the scent of something sweet, that red flower momma always sought out to put in her hair, and that funny tea momma would sometimes give her made her look up at the templar with admiration.  He sneered back at her.  She tilted her head.  Then his metal gauntlet smacked her in the face.  She sprawled upon the ground as pain blossomed all over her face.  She tasted blood.  She stared up at the templar; the one who should have been a hero.  He glared down at her.

“Filthy creature.  Go on, collect your payment at the gate.  You there, take this vermin up with the other fledglings.  Keep an eye on this one.  We may have a potential possession on our hands.”

And just like that, Moira’s world turned completely upside down.

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know when you get something stuck in your head and you just HAVE to get it out? This is that. This little ficlet has been annoying the crappola out of me for at least a few months now. Finally getting it down in writing feels good. I'm not sure what kind of posting schedule this will look like as I now have three projects on my mind, but I'll do my best with all three.

**Chapter Two  
** **Feel the Current Within**

 

_Twenty-Two Years Later_

 

“Ugh.”

Grizzly knickered and bumped Moira’s shoulder as she led the large, ruddy colored horse through the downpour.  She jogged with the reigns in hand.  It was too damn slippery to risk riding her.  Last thing she wanted was to have to put down a damn fine animal.  She spotted a small cave just up ahead, carved into the rocky hillside.  She darted down the slope.  A rattling sound had her grabbing her weapon.  She pulled the sickle looking blade from her thigh holster and held the weighted chain in her left hand.  A cloaked figure, male form the looks of it, held a sword at the ready as he stood beside his own large equine with a cart attached.  They stared each other down for a long minute, getting further soaked by the second.

“Seeing as how you’ve yet to attack nor demand anything, I assume you are no bandit?” His smooth Ferelden accent sounded as he jerked his head toward her.

“No.  Banditry is paltry and unamusing.  Shall I assume the same of you, good ser?”

“No bandit here.”

“Then, shall we share that lovely patch of dry earth there for a bit?  I’m not fancying the soaked smalls I’m about to sport.”

He made a chuckling sound and gestured, “ladies first.”

“My, how chivalrous,” Moira mused as she led the way.  The cave was just large enough to hold both people and keep their horses mostly dry and content.  They squeezed in with the cart awkwardly hanging out of the cave.  They stood there for a long set of minutes, watching the sky. 

“That…is not stopping anytime soon.  Is it?” The man asked with a heavy sigh.  Moira had the feeling it was rhetorical but she wasn’t one to let questions go unanswered.

“Perhaps it’s attracted to the countryside and trying to court it?”

He snorted and shook his head.  “That’s a unique outlook.”

“Well, it’s either that or the clouds are depressed and sobbing their sorrows.  Your pick.”

“I think I’ll stick with the lighter one.”

“Good choice.”

“May I ask about that weapon you carry?  I don’t recall seeing it’s like before.”

“Hm?” Moira looked at her right thigh.  “Oh.  It’s just something I picked up from a job in Par Vollen.”

“You’ve been to Par Vollen?”

“Mm.  Ugly country.  Gray.  Everything.  I thought maybe the large qunari would be interesting after all I’ve heard of them.  Nothing of the sort.  At least not the ones I came across.”

“The one I’m acquainted with would certainly change you mind.  Then again, he’s technically Tal Vashoth, so…”

“Moot point then.” Moira grinned at the man.  He looked back and she had to swallow her tongue.  Maker, but he was a handsome man.  Tall and broad in the shoulder; muscular from what she could glean from what of his arms she could see from under his cloak.  But it was his eyes that were the most striking.  Amber brown, like whiskey in a glass.  Then the next was a blasted distracting scar bisecting his lip, accentuating his smirk.  This man was like a female libido’s dream walking around.  She tore her gaze away, clearing her throat.  She heard him clear his throat as well as they fell into an awkward silence.

A shiver raced over her spine.  She was not particularly happy about the notion of standing in a cave, wet, cold, and hungry.  But, duly so, she did _not_ want to use magic and announce to this stranger what she was capable of.  So.  The old-fashioned way.

“Think there’s any good wood to be found?”

A choking sound came from her right preceding, “I beg your pardon?”

“Wood.  Fire.  Heat.”

“O-oh…” He reached up to rub his neck, a rather becoming shade of rouge staining his cheeks.  “Right.  Fire.”

“Think there’s any dry kindling or wood to be found?”

“Out there?  No.  But I might have—” he trailed off mumbling as he stepped closer to the part of the cart that was wedged just inside the cave.  “Yes.  Here we are.  A few bundles of dry twigs and three pieces of firewood.  Maker’s breath, is that all I have?  Really?”

“It’s a start.  We can drag a few smaller chunks into here to dry out by the fire we start.”

“True…let’s hope this doesn’t last the entire night.”

“What?  Am I such terrible company already?  Shame.  And here I thought I was a delight.”

He laughed, “no.  You’re not terrible company.”

“If you don’t mind starting a fire, I have some dried meat and bread in my saddlebag.  I’m more than happy to share.”

“Thank you,” he spoke as he knelt to the ground.

Moira rummaged around her saddlebag and withdrew a chunk of bread from her last stop and a wrapped parcel of dried ram jerky.  A small wedge of cheese happened to fall into her hand as well.  She turned to see he’d gathered a few medium sized rocks to create a campfire barrier while he was bent further over, blowing over the embers he’d sparked.  A fire rose up within a few moments and he continued to nurture it until it was licking away at the dry firewood.  She waggled the cheese in her right hand.

“Looks like I have an extra treat.  Cheese.”

Those whiskey colored eyes raised to her with amusement sparkling within their depths.  “Who would turn down cheese?”

“A crazy person, surely,” Moira scoffed as she folded herself upon the cave floor beside the fire.  She tore the bread in half and held one out for him to take.  She took a bit of the meat jerky and used a small knife to slice some cheese off before setting the parcel down for him to serve himself.  Sandwiching the meat and cheese in the bread, she took a bite.  Staring out at the downpour that didn’t look to be letting up but instead getting heavier.  A blinding flash lit up the outside for a fraction of a second before a near deafening rumble rolled overhead.  Moira shuffled deeper into her cloak, trying to ignore the unease that always came with storms.

“I can’t say I’m much fond of lightning either.”

Moira raised her head to regard her impromptu companion.  He was giving her a knowing look.  She nodded slowly and shifted in her spot.  Very uncomfortable memories threatened to swim up and take her.  Shaking them off, she simply replied, “once bitten, forever shy.”

“Indeed…”

Clearing her throat, Moira gestured to the outside.  “Looks like we’re stuck for the night.  There is no way that is letting up before morning.”

“No.  It certainly doesn’t look that way.”

“Since we’re stuck here,” Moira held her hand out to him.  “Moira.”

He took her hand, shaking it firmly.  His grip was firm, warm, and sent a very peculiar sensation down to the pit of her belly.  This man was strong, formidable; a warrior.  Not that she needed a handshake to be able to tell _that_.  But it helped. 

“Cullen.”

Moira smiled before she turned back to her meal.  He did the same.  Time slowly trailed by until she couldn’t hold back her exhaustion any longer.  Stifling a yawn, Moira shifted her cloak around to wrap more fully about her small frame.  Lying back on the packed dirt, she stared up at the ceiling of the cave.  She glanced over as Cullen shifted about as well.  He pressed his back to the back wall of the cave, just about four paces from where she laid.  He tugged his own cloak around himself and leaned his head back.  Turning away again, Moira closed her eyes.  She had confidence he wouldn’t slit her throat in her sleep.  Besides, Grizzly was nearby and was an incredibly light sleeper.  She’d stamp her hooves and whinny if he even moved toward Moira.  That was the upside to having a close bond with one’s steed. 

…..

Morning light slanted in over her eyes.  A soft knicker stirred her from her sleep.  A yawn broke from her as she shifted to stretch.  She stopped, however, at the press of a warm body beside her.  Her eyes widened before narrowing.  She turned, looking over her right shoulder.  Cullen’s back was to her.  She also noted she was far closer to the back of the cave then she’d been when she’d fallen asleep.  He slowly peered over his own shoulder.  A sheepish look that must have mirrored her own was on his face.  The both rolled over and away from one another, refusing to look at the other.  Packing up their belongings, they both ignored the druffulo between them.  She was retightening Grizzly’s saddle un-necessarily just to have something to look busy with. 

Cullen cleared his throat, “so, uh.  Thank you for the food and company.”

“Right.  Yeah.  Of course.”

“This is…where we part then.”

“Looks like.”

“It was nice to meet you, Moira.”

“Likewise, Cullen.”

“Safe travels.”

“You as well.”

They both led their steeds out and back to the road.  Facing opposite ways, they waved awkwardly and mounted their horses.  They set out in their respective directions.  Moira was a good twenty minutes away before she burst into laughter.  How stupid.  That was so ridiculously awkward.  It wasn’t like she’d never slept beside a man before.  Granted, none as devastatingly handsome as that one…but still.  A small, yearning feeling settled in the pit of her gut.  Casting a glance at the empty road behind her, she shook herself.  What a silly girl she was. 

…..

Denerim was such a unique city.  Places were incredibly lively; almost overly so.  Other places were so dull and lifeless it was like drudging through the afterlife.  Moira never did care much either way for Denerim.  But it was great for a mercenary like herself.  There was _always_ a job to be had.  Some paying very nicely, in her opinion.  It had been a good two months since her cave adventure.  She _still_ mulled over why it stuck with her even now.  The best she could surmise was that Cullen had carried a unique scent that she only realized _after_ they had parted.  It was an old comfort.  The smell of elfroot and embrium.  If he’d had a sweeter scent melded in, then that would have been the perfume of lyrium.  Just like her papa from when she was just a tiny girl.  That was probably why she’d felt comfortable around him.  Unwisely so.  He _could_ have been a rapist or murderer for all she knew.  _‘But he wasn’t,’_ her mind tossed at her.  Rolling her eyes at herself, she groaned audibly.  Why the bloody void did one stranger, one man, have to make her lose her sensibilities?  _‘Stupid woman.’_

She moved to stand before the job posting board.  She scanned over the flyers present.  Escorting…exporting…importing…

“You look capable.”

Moira turned her head with a bored look at the man who spoke to her.  “Yeah?  Why?”

“I’m assumin’ since you’re at the board here you’re lookin’ for work.  Am I right?”

Biting back the scathing sarcasm she really felt like slinging at him, she smiled thinly at him.  “I suppose so.”

“I got a job and I can’t exactly post it.  Y’get what I mean?”

Unposted jobs _always_ paid better.  But…they usually weren’t exactly legal either.  Her coin purse _was_ getting low.  Turning toward him, she gestured at him to lead the way.  Details were important and if it couldn’t be posted, it couldn’t be openly talked about.  Her hand stayed on her weapon as they walked, out of sight under her cloak.  They reached an alleyway.  He checked both ways before motioning her to follow.  She stepped into the darkened alcove and moved her back to the wall.  She wasn’t a fool.  The man dropped the act.

“Sorry about that.  I’m actually one of the king’s own guard.  I’ve been tasked to find few good warriors for an escort mission.  But it’s of utmost secrecy.  I don’t even entirely know of who is to be escorted from Brandel’s Reach here.”

“And I’m just supposed to believe you’re a royal guard?” Moira crossed her arms, glaring at him.

He gave her a small smile and withdrew an official seal, holding it out for her to inspect.  “I’m actually glad.  You’re the first one to actually question me on my credentials.  The ship is at the docks and is prepping to leave in one hour’s time.  The voyage will last four days to get to Brandel’s Reach to meet the secondary party that will join you in escorting the figures back here.  All in all, there should be ten of you along with the escorted.”

Moira handed the seal back.  “Why is the king so wary and secretive about this?”

“He didn’t say but I assume it is politically charged.”

“What kind of pay am I looking at here?”

“Oh, right,” he removed a coin pouch.  “This is the first half.  The other half will be delivered upon safe arrival.”

Moira eyed the pouch.  That was a hefty sum upfront.  She narrowed her eyes.  “Is this where the rest of your men jump out and attempt to arrest me for accepting a job too good to be true?”

“What?  No.  Of course not.  This is legitimate, miss.  I swear it.”

“There’s a catch.”

He shifted on his feet and eyed her closely before he chuckled, shaking his head.  “And here I thought mercenaries were all in it for the money alone.  Look, there’s some…suspicion about some people going on this mission.  That’s all I can say here.  If you’re not who we’re looking for, you’ll get a lovely sum of money and probably a bit of prestige upon arrival back in Denerim.”

“Thinly veiled threat.”

“Only if you’re who we’re searching for.”

Moira felt a dry smile spread on her lips.  “One more question, what happens if another hired blade tries to slit my throat or take my coin?  You know, competition and all that.”

“Well, considering the Amaranthine isn’t sovereign territory of Ferelden…I’m not certain there’s much we _could_ do.”

“Well then, sounds like I have a ship to catch.”

“Indeed it does.”

Moira took the coin and cautiously made her way to the docks.  She kept her eyes and ears open for an ambush the entire time.  It wasn’t until she was aboard the vessel and a good hour at sea that she relaxed marginally.  Among the five hired swords, she was the only woman.  Two of them were brothers; an archer and a battle-axe wielder.  One of them was a rogue with double blades and a wiry, suspicious look to him.  The last was a quiet warrior with a shield.  He sat furthest away, whetstone in hand, working at his longsword.  Moira sat at the aft, upon a crate, watching the waves lap at the sides of the ship.  Tucking her right foot up, she breathed deeply of the saltwater air.  Four days.  She could handle that.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been working on writing this character for a long while now. I'm satisfied at last. I am in love with the kusarigama. It's always been a weapon I've wanted to write into the Dragon Age universe because...seriously? It's such a BADASS weapon! So here! I finally found the character who could really do it well! I can't wait to write the fight scene with it. This will probably be a medium to quick burn, as a side note. I feel the need to write some steamy bits with my favorite templar. Enjoy!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

**Unexpected**

“Here it is now.”

Cullen looked up from the letter he’d been reading, leaning against a pillar by the pier.  The ship from Denerim was approaching the docks.  He tucked the letter back into the leather-bound folder and slid that into his travel bag.  He pushed away from the pillar and passed Ser Adelaide, Ser Barris, Ser Ryla, and Rylen.  The last he clapped on the shoulder as he moved to the carriage just set out of sight.  He rapped his knuckles on the door.  It opened and Max Trevelyan grinned at him.

“Yes, _guard_.”

“You’re enjoying this far too much, Trevelyan.” Cullen quipped back, trying to ignore the tick in his brow.

“Oh, you had better believe I am.”

“Max,” Josie sighed from inside the carriage, hiding a small smile behind her hand.  “Be good.”

“I _am_ good!”

“Says you,” Cullen snorted, leaning on the carriage.  “The ship is approaching, your majesty.  I came to inform _you_ that we’ll be ready to depart shortly.”

Queen Elissa was snickering to herself in her corner of the carriage.  “Very well, Commander.”

“I’m going to go inform Prince Montrel now,” Cullen saw the sour look that crossed Max’s face.  He didn’t bother hiding his amusement as he shut the door and moved to the second carriage.  He knocked upon that door and waited for the Antivan Prince to open it.  “Prince Montrel, the ship is approaching the docks now.  We shall be ready to depart shortly.”

“It is about time, no?” The prince huffed, clearly unhappy at the wait.  “The sooner I am upon that ship, the better.  This place is so… _unpleasant_ in smell.”

Cullen smiled patiently and bowed, closing the door.  He stepped back and made his way back to his men.  Rylen chuckled as Cullen came to a still.

“Trevelyan _really_ doesn’t like Montrel, does he?”

Cullen smirked, “no.  He doesn’t.  Then again, would you blame him?  That man is a terrible flirt and seems to think even wedded women are appropriate targets.”

“If you ask me, he deserves to have the Inquisitor teach him a lesson or three.” Ser Ryla spoke, rolling her eyes. 

Ser Adelaide giggled and shook her head.  “That’d be quite the sight.”

“Probably best not to encourage an international incident.” Barris added, not without humor.

Footsteps approached them.  Cullen stepped forward as the captain of the vessel they’d be boarding came over to greet them.  The man shook Cullen’s hand. 

“All docked, ser.  Crew’s just loadin’ up the last bit of supplies we ordered from the docks.  Ready when you are.”

“Good.  And the extra guards?”

“Already aboard, ser.”

“Good, very good.” Cullen nodded his approval.  “Rylen, please escort the first carriage.  Barris, please escort the second.”

Both men turned and headed in the direction of the carriages to do just that.  The captain led the way back to the ship once the diplomat were properly cloaked and hidden in their surrounding guards.  The former templars made a defensive circle around the four.  They all boarded.  The captain led them to their accommodations for their journey back to Denerim.  There were three rooms, plushy decorated.  The forward room was given to the queen, the one to the left to Trevelyan and Josie, and the one on the right was for Prince Montrel.  Cullen assigned Adelaide to the queen, Ryla to Trevelyan, and Barris to Montrel.  He and Rylen would take the upper deck.

To say Cullen was _not_ looking forward to sailing… _again_ …would be an understatement.  If it weren’t for one of his best friends, he would have flat out denied the request for his sword arm.  The ship pushed off and Cullen stopped in his climb up the steps to lean on the wall.  He took deep breaths to calm his nerves.  He regained himself and climbed the rest of the way up.  Rylen was at the door, waiting patiently.

“Those tricks I taught you working, mate?”

Cullen rubbed his neck, “a bit.”

“If it’s too much, go sit by the rails.  The fresh air’ll do wonders for your sickness.”

“Or make it worse…” Cullen grumped.

“Aye, if you let it.”

Cullen snorted as they walked toward the front of the deck.  He scanned over the mercenaries.  One of these was quite possibly an assassin.  The report from Divine Victoria was very clear.  Someone was trying to murder the queen.  Hence the secrecy of this mission.  It was his duty to ensure that _didn’t_ happen.  He brought only the finest of his former templars; ones he thoroughly trusted.  They were all recovering or recovered lyrium addicts.  As he was. 

He was proud of how many men and women had flocked to the recovery camp he’d set up with what he’d been given by the Inquisition upon their disbanding.  Alongside that, came a very healthy amount from Divine Victoria herself.  She even purchased land in Ferelden, just for his cause.  Cassandra had come and gone frequently to aid them wherever she could along with a handful of Seekers. 

As his eyes scanned over the crew and mercenaries, he met a pair of very shocked eyes across the deck.  He returned his gaze to those eerily familiar eyes.  The blue-purple color was one he could never forget as they’d not left his mind for at least two months.  But what in the Maker’s name was _she_ doing _here_?  Moira.  She stood from the crate she was sitting on and began to walk toward him.  He raised his brows at her, taking in her appearance.  He forced himself _not_ to notice how…nice…that corset made her curves look.  She stopped before him with a disbelieving laugh.

“Cullen?”

“Moira…what are you--?”

“I was going to ask _you_ that!”

“You know this lovely lass?” Rylen asked from his side, reminding Cullen that he wasn’t alone. 

“Er, yes…well…sort of?”

Moira snickered at his answer, “we spent a thunderous night together in a cave two months ago now.”

Cullen spluttered at her answer as Rylen turned to look at him with obvious surprise.  “I—no!  It’s not like that!”

Moira’s peal of laughter was distracting.  Maker save him, but she was going to be the death of him.  She covered her mouth with her gloved hand and shook her head before she spoke again.  “We both got stuck in that nasty deluge with the lightning storm and Ser Cullen was kind enough to share a fire with me.  That’s all.”

“Ah…see, now _that_ sounds more like the Cullen I know.” Rylen chuckled, looking at Cullen with no small amount of amusement.

“What _are_ you doing here?” Cullen asked, trying to ignore the way his mind kept wandering to that morning.  The feeling of her small, warm body pressed against his.  Even if they were back to back, it was still incredibly poignant for him. 

“Hired for this escort mission.  You?”

Cullen felt a knot in his gut.  Surely she couldn’t be…?  “As were we.”

“Speaking of, I’m going to go make some rounds.” Rylen winked at Moira before he turned and walked away. 

“Were you hired at random too or…?” Moira asked quietly after Rylen walked away.

“No,” Cullen shook his head, “I was requested.”

“Well, now I feel a little insulted.” Moira teased, scanning his face.  “You get seasick, don’t you?”

He frowned at her perception, “why do you ask?” 

“Your brow is a bit slick and you’re looking slightly green around the edges.”

“…am I?” Maker’s breath.  If he couldn’t even stand aboard without feeling queasy, what good was he?

Moira reached down to her hip where her travel bag sat.  She withdrew a small pouch and a waterskin.  “Here.  Put a pinch of salt under your tongue and hold it there until it dissolves.  Take tiny sips of water every so often.”

He stared at the offerings.  Should he take them?  Then again, she didn’t poison him before.  Why would she now?  Could he trust her?  He looked into her eyes and saw what seemed like pure, innocent, honesty.  He wanted to trust her, despite his better judgment.  Praying the Maker wasn’t about to prove him the largest fool of all, he took the items from her.  He did as she stated and moved to an empty crate and perched on the edge of it. 

“So, you are a hired sword?” He found himself asking.

Moira shrugged, “pays decently most of the time.  Grizzly enjoys the benefits.”

“Grizzly?”

“My horse.  She’s currently put-up in one of the stables in Denerim.  Probably angry as the void that I left her for so long.”

“Why Grizzly?”

Moira smiled, obviously recalling a memory.  “Because that horse is the most daring, bold beast on four legs.  Most horses _run_ from wyverns.  She _charges_ _at_ _them_ like an angry bear.  If you look at her left rear flank, she has a nasty scar from one of the times she nearly lost.”

“Your horse…fights…wyverns.”

“And other various creatures too…yes.  She tries at least.”

“I’ve never heard of that before, honestly.  Even my steed knows to steer clear of them.”

“I never said she was the most _intelligent_ of creatures.  But she’s the closest thing to family I’ve had for…well, ever.”

“No siblings then?”

“No.” Moira looked away.  Cullen knew he should leave it but something in him begged to ask.

“What happened to your parents?” At her wince, he mentally berated himself.  “You don’t have to answer, Moira.  I’m merely curious.”

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong.” Moira shifted to sit beside him.  “My mother was a maid.  My father a…templar.  When I was five, my mother protected me and we had to run away because of it.  I was taken away at six and she…died.  Not long after.”

“Your father was a templar?”

“Yes.  A very honorable one.  Probably still is one.  Well, unless…”

“Unless?”

“Unless the, um, lyrium…robbed him of his mind.”

She knew about lyrium madness?  He scanned the ship once more, pleased that nothing seemed amiss just yet.  “It’s not common knowledge that lyrium does that.”

“Not for common folk, I would assume.” She agreed, avoiding his gaze.

“You were taken at six, you said.  Were you kidnapped?” He watched her face closely.  She sighed and looked down.

“No, Cullen.  I was taken.  To Ostwick Circle, if you must know.”

She was a mage.  Cullen watched the anger cross her face before she covered it with a neutral mask.  He cleared his throat, “did you ever seek your father out?”

A scoff, “and say what?  _‘Hello, Greagoir!  It’s me!  Moira!  Your daughter?  You know, the one that suddenly disappeared in the night once upon a time?’_   That’d go over well.  _If_ he even remembered he _had_ a daughter.”

Cullen’s eyes widened, “Greagoir?  Knight-Commander Greagoir of Kinloch Hold?”

Moira’s shoulders tensed as she turned to look at him.  “You know him?”

“I served under him.”

A weighted silence fell over them.  Moira’s eyes were large with surprise.  “Y—you served under my papa?”

Cullen couldn’t ignore how adorable her slip up was.  Calling her father ‘papa’.  The discomfort of his time serving in Ferelden came rushing in over that small enjoyment.  He swallowed thickly.  “Yes.  During the Blight.”

“…Maker, you were there when the circle was taken over…” It wasn’t a question, he noticed.

He did _not_ want to go over this.  The nightmares had mostly faded over the years.  But having such a blatant reminder was…unsavory.  He opened his mouth to try and steer the conversation away this topic.

“Sorry.  That probably doesn’t help.” She spoke softly, wringing her hands together and unwinding them repeatedly in her lap.  “Was…was he…?”

“Among the dead?  No.  He survived.  From what I understand, he retired around seven years ago to a tiny roadside village in Northern Ferelden.”

“Was he a good man still?”

“Greagoir is still one of the most honorable men I’ve ever been blessed to know.  I…I admit that I failed to be as just as he was.  He refused to have the Rite of Annulment enacted even when…he was begged by a fool to do so.”

“It’s not foolish when one is faced with such horrors.  It’s entirely natural to desire to see it ended to keep it from happening again.” Moira sighed, shaking her head.  “Evil exists wherever good resides.  It’s not hard to find bad people among great.”

“It is foolish to condemn the innocent because of the guilty.”

“True.”

Rylen walked down the steps from the right, “nothing I can see worth worrying over.”

Cullen remembered himself, standing up then.  “I should inspect the ship myself as well.  Take a few moments for yourself, Rylen.”

“Aye.  Will do.” Rylen hopped up to sit beside Moira.  Cullen felt a strange stirring in his chest at the sight of his good friend so close to Moira.  He turned and walked away.  He needed to think and to do that, he had to put a little distance between himself and the woman who he seemed unable to escape.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Partially dissatisfied with this chapter. A couple things went smoothly the way I wanted but there something about it that is bugging me. Oh well.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

**With the Tides**

Moira rose with sun the next day.  Emerging from the rigging hold, she swiped a breakfast of stale bread and lukewarm tea.  On the main deck, she leaned on the railing, watching as the sun rose higher over the water.  All manners of colors adorned the horizon; like buckets of spilt paint mixing together slowly.  Her senses alerted her to footsteps approaching her.  She sipped her tea, acting as though she had no inclination to her soon to be guest. 

“I was not informed that such lovely creatures would be upon this venture.” A smooth, Antivan accented voice sounded from her left.  She turned to look at the Prince Montrel as he gave her a look that she supposed was meant to make her swoon. 

He was attractive enough.  Dark, shoulder length hair pulled back at the nape of his neck.  Aristocratic nose and sharp features.  His eyes were a grey tone that was reminiscent of a cloud just before the rain.  His jaw was angular, masculine.  His body was built as though to entice a woman with ease.  He was too delicate. 

“I’m certain the templar ladies would love to know that you think so highly of them, your grace.”

Prince Montrel laughed.  Ugh.  It was such a pompous sound that made her fight the urge to roll her eyes.  “You are such a tease, my lady.”

Moira clenched her jaw as he sidled even closer to her.  His hand sliding along the railing to rest just beside her hip.  “I don’t tease, your grace.  Merely state facts.”

“Mm.  And you would have me believe that such a…refined looking woman would be so humble?  Surely you must know you are a sensual flower, just begging for attention…?”

Moira could swear she heard her nerve snap internally.  Leaning just a bit closer to him, she lowered her voice to purr.  “Yes…I do just beg for attention, your grace.  Just not from men who are used to getting whatever they want with a bat of the lashes and a crook of their finger.”

She stepped back and spun away.  She made it all of three steps before she realized Cullen and Rylen were watching from near the doorway.  She cursed her luck.  Of course the one man she’d not mind a flirtation with was watching her exchange.  Then again, what was she thinking?  She was a mage.  He was a templar.  Former, yes, but once a templar…always a templar.  Beside them stood a woman she knew by reputation alone.  Josephine Montilyet-Trevelyan.  The former Ambassador of the Inquisition and wife of the Inquisitor Maxwell Trevelyan. 

“That was brilliantly done.” Josephine beamed at her upon Moira’s approach.  “I’ve not seen him quite so put upon since we started this venture.”

“Oh…uh…” Moira balked, “so that was obvious, huh?”

“Can you do it again?  I’d _pay_ to see him flinch and pout like that again.” Trevelyan chuckled from where he stood by his wife.

“Not exactly the best image for political purposes, Trevelyan.” Cullen pointed out with absolutely no heat to his words. 

“If he tries to flirt or touch my wife _one more time_ , I _cannot_ be held accountable for what I’ll do to him.  I just can’t.” Trevelyan replied with a growl.

“As much as I’m sure Ali would agree, for the sake of negotiations, _please_ don’t murder one of the Merchant Princes, Inquisitor?” Queen Elissa piped up as she stepped out from the doorway as well. 

“Ugh…” Trevelyan let his head fall back. 

“Oh!” Josephine suddenly yelped out, causing Moira to jump.  “I cannot believe my manners!  Forgive my appalling lack thereof.  I am J—”

“Lady Josephine Montilyet-Trevelyan.  Former Ambassador of the Inquisition.  Believe me, my lady, your reputation precedes you.”

“Not all bad, I do hope.”

“Oh no, hardly any bad at all.  You’re said to be one of the kindest diplomats to be met.”

“What lies!” Trevelyan teased, earning him a smack from his wife.

“Watch it, you.” Josephine threatened even though she was smiling.  “I am very pleased to hear that.”

“Don’t believe her.  She’s just happy all the bad things haven’t come to light.” Cullen added into the teasing.

“You two!  I swear!  The Maker sent you both to test my very being.” Josephine huffed.

“Imagine if Leliana were here.” Trevelyan grinned, “you know she’d have more than her fair share to add.”

“Enough.  What about you, Max?  Where are _your_ manner, _Lord_ Trevelyan?”

Sheepishly, much to Moira’s amusement, the Inquisitor turned to her.  “Maxwell Trevelyan.  But please, call me Max.”

“Is that appropriate for my station to address you so informally?” Moira asked, surprised by his request.

“I hate formality, one.  And two, a friend of Cullen’s is a friend of mine.   He’s a hard enough nut to crack as is.”

Cullen made a sound of protest which only made Moira grin.  She shot him a glance to see he was blushing.  He rolled his eyes at Max. 

“Queen Elissa Cousland-Theirin. Though I’m certain that was a bit of a given as well.  What is your name…?”

Moira blanched at being addressed by the Queen herself.  She cleared her throat and attempted a horrendous failure of a curtsy.  “Moira, your majesty.”

“That looked like it hurt.” Max commented and Moira felt her face heat with embarrassment.

Cullen punched Max’s shoulder, making the Inquisitor flinch and hiss.

“Hey!  You can’t hit me!”

“You’re no longer my superior, so yes.  I can.”

“I’m a _Lord_ , I’ll have you know!” Max puffed up his chest.

“Not yet, you’re not.  And I’m still a Commander.  I never lost my rank nor my title or holdings.”

“That’s because Leliana looks at you like a baby brother.” Max rolled his eyes.

“Yes.  The _Divine_ treats me as though I’m family.  What’s your excuse?” Cullen smirked as he crossed his arms in challenge.

Max snorted, “is that really something to brag about?”

Moira laughed, unable to hold it in.  Josephine shook her head, looking at Moira, “they’re always like this.  Pay no mind.”

“I should probably go make sure everything is going smoothly around the deck.  It was a pleasure to meet you all,” Moira bowed this time, unwilling to show her lack of skill in curtsying once more.  She felt warmed by the farewells as she stepped away.  Taking the steps to the higher deck, she pushed aside anything but her task at hand.  Normally, the idea of assassination wouldn’t bother her.  It happened.  All the time, really.  Until she met the people who were being targeted, she still hadn’t cared too much.  If she were in a position to stop it, she probably would have.  Otherwise, it would have been no sweat off her back.  She had a good sum of coin just from taking the job.  It wouldn’t have mattered if she got the latter half too much.  But now?  Now it felt like she was personally involved.  She felt the need to be more diligent in her efforts to ensure the assassination didn’t happen. 

The day progressed uneventfully.  The four political figures came up top a few times throughout the day.  The sun dipped below the horizon an hour ago.  A lanterns had been lit around the deck.  Moira sat on the railing at the back of the ship, dangling her feet out over the sea below. 

“Maker’s breath, woman!”

She almost startled at the sound of Cullen’s voice from behind her.  She looked over her shoulder as he approached her with two steaming mugs in hand.  A disapproving frown was settled over his face. 

“What?”

“Do you have any inclination as to how dangerous that is?”

“You know, it hadn’t occurred to me.  Enlighten me, oh templar, ser.” She drawled with a smug smile. 

He scoffed, holding out a mug to her.  She spun around and set her feet on solid wood and took the mug.  Cullen turned to lean back on the railing, sipping at his mug.  “Josie really likes you.”

“Really?  We only met for a moment.”

“She’s a fairly decent judge of character.  You impressed her.”

“Certainly not my curtsy, though.”

Cullen laughed at that, “no.  That was…”

“Painful looking.  I gathered as much.”

“You’re not noble born.  It only makes sense you’d not know how to curtsy.  I certainly can’t.”

“Now see, _that_ I’d pay to see.”

“That is not going to happen.”

“Not even if I ask?”

“No.”

“What if I pout?”

“Still no.”

“Beg?”

Cullen’s cheeks pinkened, “ _no_.  I will not curtsy for you.”

Moira chortled into her mug, taking a sip of the contents.  She blinked and stared into it.  “Is this sipping cocoa?”

“Yes?  Is that a problem?”

“…no…I just…I’ve never had it before…” Moira admitted on a hushed mumble.

“Not even in your travels after…everything?”

“No.”

“Now I feel very pleased in my choice.”

Moira smiled as she took another sip.  “You’re too kind, ser.”

Cullen and Moira sat in a comfortable quiet for several long minutes.  Cullen reached up to rub his neck before he cleared his throat.  “Why don’t you carry a staff?”

“…nothing screams _‘apostate’_ like a staff.”

“True.”

She sighed and shifted a bit, “to be honest, I hate what I am.  I loathe magic.  It destroyed everything in my life.  If not for magic, templars wouldn’t have to guard mages.  If not for magic, my momma…”

“Magic can also do good, Moira.  It was magic that sealed the breach.  It was magic that helped defeat Corypheus…”

“You have to know that sounds very odd coming from a templar.”

Cullen smiled, nodding.  “I’m aware.  And it’s _former_ templar.”

“Cullen,” Moira looked at him exasperatedly, “you know as well as I that templars are never fully away from that life.”

“No,” he agreed, “but we aren’t bound to it as tightly.  Or some of the toxic ideology that goes with it.”

Moira shifted and pulled her weapon from the holster.  She held it out to him.  Cullen looked at it then at her before taking it.  She chuckled at the surprised look on his face by the weight of it.  He turned it over and examined the curved blade. 

“You said you picked this up in Par Vollen?”

“That I did,” Moira leaned in and pointed to the engraving along the side of the blade. 

Cullen frowned, “that’s not Qunlat.”

“No, it’s Tevene.  _Numquam cades._   Never falter.  I’ve never found what this weapon is actually called.  I get the feeling it is a custom one.  Maybe something taken off the dead body of a Tevinter.” Moira shrugged.

Cullen’s thumb ran over the enchanted rune embedded in the handle.  “Do you channel your magic through this?”

“When necessary.  I rarely fight with my magic though.”

“Why is that?” He asked as he handed the weapon back. 

Moira slid it back into its sheath, wrapping the chain around her waist, tucking it under her corset where a little lip was concealed to hold it securely.  “I never was very good with offensive spells.  Healing is more my expertise.”

“I see,” Cullen looked into his mug as though lost in thought.  Wondering if he was thinking of another question, Moira caught movement in the shadowed area near the steps, over where the door leading up from the lower decks resided.  She grabbed his forearm to stall whatever he was thinking and nodded her head toward it.  It didn’t take him even a second to react as he shifted, setting his mug down silently.  Moira silently withdrew her weapon again and crouched down, stalking forward and to the left.  Cullen took the right and did the same with his own sword drawn as silently as possible. 

Moira could just make out a crouched body in the darkness that the lamp light didn’t quite reach.  But what she could make out, was a figure moving around by the door leading below deck.  The crouched person shifted their weight.  Cullen slid out and rushed the person.  They stood and blocked Cullen’s sword with their own shield. 

“Stop!  Wait!” The man called out; Cullen locked their blades.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” Cullen growled at the man.

“Trying to do what I was hired to do!” The man replied, angrily. 

The person below turned at the outburst.  It happened to be Queen Elissa and Lady Josephine.  Moira’s gut was telling her something still wasn’t right.  The glint of something caught her eye from the top of the steering housing.  She rushed toward the small steering housing that stood up on the top deck.  She spun the weighted chain in her left hand and let it fly.  A sharp curse from above before the resistance on her chain was all she needed to know.  She spun and yanked downward.  The person sailed over her and slammed into the deck at her feet.  Flicking the curved blade around, she slit his throat in one quick motion before she unwound the chain.  Turning, Moira leapt over the railing and landed with a roll on the deck below and began to search for the other one.  A burst of smoke signaled the rogue emerging from his stealth.  Right behind Josie.  Elissa grabbed Josie and yanked her out of the way of the first swipe of blades.  Moira swung her scythe blade around and let it fly.  The rogue had the sense to dodge.  He rolled away, turning to glare at her.  Now that she had his attention, Queen Elissa had the opening she needed.  Pulling a short sword from under her skirt, she ran the man through from behind.  Using her foot, the queen shoved the dying man off of her blade. 

Moira yanked her weapon back to her hand and released a breath slowly.  The door burst open and the last of the mercenaries came flying out, rolling ass overhead.  Stalking behind him was Trevelyan.  Gone was the playful man from earlier.  This was the infamous Inquisitor now.  He stood over the man with his singular right-hand glowing with fire. 

“Am I to assume you were attacked as well?”

Josie nodded, a hand at her neck.  “Yes.”

Trevelyan’s eyes raised from the terrified mercenary to spot the dead man at the queen’s feet and then shifted to Moira.  He narrowed his gaze.  “I have to ask, did you have anything to do with this, miss Moira?”

“No,” Moira answered but was cut off by Cullen.

“She dispatched the first assailant and distracted the second for Queen Elissa.”

Trevelyan then turned to the last mercenary.  “And you?”

“I spotted the one move into stealth just as the Queen and Lady came outside.  I was waiting for him to reappear so I could dispatch of him myself, my Lord.” The man answered.

“Yet you were skulking in the shadows like they were.” Cullen retorted, turning to glare at him.  “That’s rather suspicious, don’t you think?”

“I tried to tell you but you were attacking me!”

“It’s what he was hired to do.” Trevelyan spoke evenly.

“So was I!”

Trevelyan turned back to the man at his feet who looked to be having trouble breathing.  “You majesty, I think I will defer to your judgment here.”

Queen Elissa looked at the man, “if he wished us dead, he could have easily done so when we came out.  He was up there, wasn’t he?  I believe him innocent of this attempt.  As for this fool, I need him for questioning.  But he looks half-dead already.”

“I can fix that,” Moira strode closer, sheathing her weapon.  “If you’d like, that is.”

“Dead men can’t talk.” Queen Elissa smirked.

“That they can’t.”

Moira knelt and let her mana flow into her hands.  Her restorative magic flowed forth and began to seek out the injuries.  Healing them just enough to make it easier to persuade information out of him, she settled back on her heels. 

“I won’t say he’s right as rain, but he’ll definitely be up for some talking once he wakes.”

“Good,” Trevelyan spoke, reaching down to grab the back of the man’s collar.  Dragging him, the Inquisitor returned to the door.  “Rutherford, I want a full sweep done to ensure no others, crew included, are part of this.  It’s a bit too convenient that not all the lamps were lit and the crew isn’t anywhere to be seen.  Don’t you think?”

“I do.  It will be done.” Cullen replied, nodding to Trevelyan. 

Moira watched as Cullen and his men set to work doing just that.  She stepped aside, unsure of what to do now.  The other mercenary stood with her.  He sighed, rubbing his face.

“So much for easy money…”

Moira eyed him, “nothing is every _easy money_.”

He scoffed at that, “tell me about it.  Just want to help feed my wife and wee babe.  This isn’t what I thought it would be.  Thought I put all that fighting behind me.”

“There’s always another battle to be fought.  There’s always another corrupted soul, overreaching.  That’s just life.” Moira closed her eyes and tried to tune out everything that was stirred forth by the evening’s events.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pardon my atrocious handle of the Latin language. Since I kind of operate under the assumption that Tevene is basically like Latin for us, I decided to use a /cough/ translator /cough/ to give her weapon a special flair. ALSO, I LOVE KUSARIGAMA AND HAVE BEEN DYING TO WRITE ONE INTO A DA UNIVERSE FIC SINCE FOOOOOREEEEVERRRR!! So, TADA!


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

**Where Are You Now?**

Denerim was such a welcome sight.  The events of two nights previous had certainly impacted both crew and passengers.  Three other crew members were wheedled out; finding to have been privy to the plot against not only Queen Elissa but also Prince Montrel.  Moira still was able to speak with Cullen throughout the last two days, but it took most of those days to track down the last person on the crew who helped the assassins.  Finally with her feet on solid ground again, Moira was a bit surprised to see the same guard who’d hired her standing in full Royal Guard regalia next to the Royal entourage.  King Alistair himself was present to greet his wife in person.  Queen Elissa disembarked the vessel and smiled at her husband who threw all sense of decorum to the wind as he all but ran to her and scooped her up into his arms.  Turning from the sight, Moira started past the gathered people. 

She waded through the crowd that had gathered to see their queen return.  A hand grabbed her elbow.  She spun; fist ready to fly.  She faltered as Cullen jerked back enough with a hand up to block her fist had she swung. 

“Cullen,” she breathed, “you startled me.”

“I should have known better than to grab someone used to a fight.  My apologies.”

“What do you need?”

“Aren’t you going to collect the rest of your payment?” He motioned behind him. 

Moira shook her head, “give it to the other mercenary.  I have enough to last me a while.”

“…ask for Knight-Commander Greagoir at the Chantry here in Denerim.  They should know what the name of the village that he retired to is.”

Moira blinked, stunned to silence as he smiled and stepped back.

“Perhaps we’ll meet again, Moira.”

“Seems to be a strange coincidence, us meeting,” Moira mused with a smile.  “Keep well, Cullen.”

“You as well.”

With that, she headed on her way again.  The market was her first stop.  She bought an entire sack of apples and threw it onto her shoulders.  Her second stop were the stables where she gleefully showered her companion with affection.  Grizzly seemed overjoyed at the sight of her.  As she strapped all of her supplies back onto her horse, she stewed over the suggestion she’d been given.  Finally giving into her own curiosity with a long groan, she made her way to the Chantry.  She strapped her horse down and went inside.  It took her a bit longer than she would have liked, but she left the building with a small slip of parchment with a name on it.  Saddling up, she left Denerim, heading Northwest toward the West Hill area. 

…..

“I.  Hate.  Traveling!” Moira snarled, not for the last time that day.  Three days of riding was _not_ kind to her backside.  She rolled her head on her shoulders, stretching her neck and muscles.  Grizzly made a soft chuff of acknowledgment and Moira smiled, patting her mane.  The night air was cool but not stifling.  The transition of spring into summer was fairly temperate this far north.  It wasn’t too far until the Storm Coast.  It was easy to assume that was why the weather wasn’t too overly warm yet not so chilly to be uncomfortable. 

Moira would need to stop for the night soon.  For some reason, she thought that the little roadside village would have come up by now.  Was she still a day away?  By her count, it should have only taken her three and a half days of riding to reach it from Denerim.  At this rate, she either passed it in the dark already, it was even farther than she’d been told, or…it just didn’t exist.  Considering this was bear country around these parts, she _really_ didn’t fancy another camp out in the woods tonight.  Last night had been a close call.  A bear had wandering far too close for comfort to her tent and Grizzly’s position.  The small she was riding up crested and she spotted a few lit cabins and buildings ahead.  A muted sound of relief expelled from her lungs.  It took her another eight minutes to guide Grizzly toward a tavern.  After dismounted, she looped the reigns to the banister and gave Grizzly an apple from the sack.  Rubbing Grizzly’s neck, she turned and headed inside.  There were only a handful of patrons within.  Walking to the counter, she ignored the stares. 

“’Ello, miss.  What can I do ya for?”

Moira leaned on the counter, “is there a man named Greagoir living in this village?”

She noted that just about everyone was eavesdropping.  The tavern keep studied her with a cautious look.

“What’s your business with ‘im?”

“I know him from a very long time ago.  When I was just a little girl.  I’d just like to see him, see if he’s doing well.  If he wants, after that, I’ll leave.”

“…I see…” The keep sighed and pointed to his right.  “Go on down the road to the last cabin then turn right.  At the edge of the clearin’ where the woods meet the village is a little hut.  He’ll be there.”

“Thank you,” Moira stated sincerely as she turned and walked out.  Once outside, she heard the voices suddenly raise as they talked amongst themselves.  Probably about her.  Shrugging it off as she really didn’t care, she tried to quell the nerves in her gut as she pulled Grizzly’s reigns free.  She climbed back into the saddle and rode to the last cabin and turned right, heading uphill.  Just as the man said, a small hut sat nestled along the edge of the woods.  She pulled Grizzly to a stop before the hut.  She stared blankly at it, having no idea what she should do.  What did she say to him after all this time?  Would he even remember her?  Was he even still…there?  She couldn’t sit on Grizzly all night warring over it.  Sliding down she led Grizzly to the side of the hut where a horse’s lean-to was.  Another steed stood inside and didn’t even stir or acknowledge her as she placed Grizzly inside.  Leaving the travel bags where they were just in case things went badly, she rounded the hut. 

“Who are you?”

Moira froze.  If she had any doubts that her papa lived here, that voice took it all away.  She was instantly thrown into the past, giggling and running up to the younger version of the man standing on his front porch.  Her vision misted over as she forced herself to step out of the shadowed area and into the swath of light spilling forth from the open door behind him.  His once brown hair was liberally laced with silvery-grey streaks all throughout.  His eyes stared at her like he was seeing a ghost. 

“Kni—” Moira’s voice cracked and broke, her emotions far too much for her.  She tried to swallow and stem the flow enough to speak. 

“Moira…?”

And that was all it took.  She couldn’t stop herself if she tried.  Her feet moved of their own volition and she wasn’t the only one.  She only made it up one step before she collided with him.  They slid to the porch, tightly hugging one another.  Moira shamelessly turned her face into his shoulder, crying out every fear, frustration, sorrow, and the utter loss.  If her shoulder was anything to go by, he was as well.  He held her so tightly she almost wondered if she would bruise but couldn’t find it within her to care. 

“Papa…”

“The Maker brought you to me, at last.  My prayers were finally answered after all these years.”

“I’m sorry!” She wailed, “I’m so sorry!  I wanted to find you!  But—but I was—I couldn’t!!”

“I searched for you for so long, but I could never find you.  Where did you go?”

“F-Free Marches.  Markham.”

“That would explain the accent.”

“Papa, I—”

“Shh.  There’ll be time enough for that later.  Come inside, little bird.”

Moira lost it again.  Greagoir patiently wrapped her back up in his arms and rocked her on the porch until she calmed again.  She hadn’t heard that nickname in so long.  When she finally could stand, they walked inside.  Greagoir led her to the chair by the fireplace and moved to the tiny kitchenette to start a kettle of water.  Moira pulled her boots off and tucked her feet up into the chair.  She watched her father move about his small home.  He had the barest hitch in his left hip as he maneuvered about.  His weathered hands shook ever so slightly.  She could smell it too.  The lyrium.  That cloyingly sweet concoction with just the barest hint of elf root.  But there it was.  The embrium and peppermint scent as well.  She was a little girl all over again. 

“How do you take your tea?”

“Plain, please.”

He turned with a smile, “just like your mum.”

A phantom pain stabbed at her heart.  She smiled sadly and took the cup from him.  “I’m not overly fond of sweet drinks.”

“Hm.” Greagoir sat down on the wooden chest at the end of his bed.  “Your mum…is she?”

Moira stared into her tea, “she’s gone…for a long time now.”

She could hear his breath hitch before he spoke so softly, “I had feared.  D—did she…how did she…?”

“Of a broken heart,” Moira whispered, sipping her tea. 

“What happened, Moira?  That night?”

“What night?”

“When your mother ran with you?  I heard her master had died but…there were many things circulating that she murdered his son.”

“She didn’t murder him.  She killed him.  He was trying to rape her and then he struck me.  She was protecting _me_.”

“…Maker’s grace…” Greagoir breathed, shaking his head.  “Why didn’t she just come to me?  I could have—”

“Ruined your entire career as a templar by aiding and abiding a woman who would have been considered a murderer to the rest of the world.  No.  She did it to save us both.”  Moira rubbed her face tiredly. 

“I would have given up my life to save you both.  She had to know that.  How…how old were you when she—”

“Six…maybe seven?  I’m not sure.”

“Were you placed into a foster home?  Is that why--?”

“I was taken to Ostwick Circle.” Moira turned and leveled him with her gaze.  She had to know sooner rather than later what his reaction would be to knowing his daughter was a mage.  She watched as he looked like he’d been slapped.  She was prepared to jump up and leave.  Boots or no boots.

“…you…a mage…?  When were you taken?”

“When I was six.  I was playing in the fields with a stick and it lit ablaze in my hand.  From there, the guards dragged me away kicking and screaming.  I didn’t get to say goodbye.  She chased the carriage, screaming.  It wasn’t until the circles fell when I went to find her that I found out she died not even two months after I’d been taken.  She slowly starved herself to death and then just…wasted away.”

Moira watched tears run down her father’s face.  Bracing herself, she waited for whatever he was about to say next.  She truly expected him to either smite her or tell her to leave.  After all, wasn’t it her fault her mother died?  She blamed herself, so why shouldn’t he?

“I am…I am so sorry, little bird.  None of this should have happened…”

“Why are _you_ sorry?  I’m the one who killed her.” Moira snapped; the old wound laid bare.  Maybe she wanted him to hate her so that she could justify something broken and twisted inside of her that needed all templars to be bad.  Or angry.  _‘Cullen didn’t treat you that way,’_ her mind traitorously threw back at her.

“You?  No, little bird.  Don’t you ever think that.  Blame me if you must, but never yourself.  You get your magic from my side.  Your great grandmother was a mage.  It is in my blood.  I may not have had magic myself, but it was a potential none-the-less.”

“You’re a templar.  Why are you so…understanding?!” Moira sat forward, shaking her head and glaring into the fire.  “Templars are angry.  Hateful.  They just want to rule and control.  Why aren’t you both like that?  I don’t…I don’t understand it!”

“…templars are guards.  Protectors.  Not all seem to recall that.  Our duty was always to protect the mages, watch over them.  Never hurt them without just cause.  Who else are you speaking about?”

Moira drummed her fingers on her cup and looked over at her father.  He was watching her with genuine care on his face.  “One of the templars that was under your command a long time ago.  He’s actually the one who told me how to find you.  His name is Cullen.  We met—”

“Cullen?” Greagoir interrupted, evidently rather shocked by the name.  “Cullen Rutherford?  _He_ told you how to find me?  Did he know you were a mage?”

“Yes…”

“Maker…” Greagoir leaned back, stunned.  “I…had heard he had changed but to hear it first hand is…well, a relief for one.  I always wondered if the poor lad would ever…”

“Poor lad?  I know he was Kinloch when it fell but—”

“He was one of the few surviving templars.  The maleficar held him hostage for days upon end.  Torturing him.  He was…so broken when he came out of that tower.  I know he fancied a mage there before it all happened, but she was murdered alongside the other mages who tried to stop the blood mages.  The things that lad must have endured.  I suffer nightmares from that time still every so often, but I cannot imagine…”

Moira was speechless.  Cullen seemed very well put together for a man who’d been tortured by blood mages.  She turned her gaze to her cup.  And for him to be so…open to her as a mage?  Even friendly?  He really must have changed.  Then it slammed into her full force.  Cullen Rutherford…she knew that name.  How could she have not put two and two together back on the ship?  No wonder he knew the Inquisitor!  He was _Commander Cullen fucking Rutherford of the Inquisition!!_

An almost hysterical laugh bubbled forth from her as she shook her head, “bloody bastard…”

“What?”

“He never told me his surname.  I should have figured it out that I was talking to the Commander of the Inquisition…”

“That’s right…he did get that position, didn’t he?  After Kirkwall, if I recall correctly.”

“Yes.”

“Good for him.”

Moira smiled and took another sip of her tea only to choke on it with her father’s next question.

“You fancy him, don’t you?”

She pounded her chest, coughing on the tea.  “I…what?  No!  I mean, he’s nice and I’d say maybe a friendly type…person?”

Greagoir laughed, “friendly type person?”

“We’ve only met twice!”

“It only takes one glance if the Maker wills it to be so.”

“…I don’t think that’s what’s…going on.”

“Hm.  Well, it’s late.”

Moira felt saddened by that, but knew what he meant.  She nodded, setting her cup aside as she began to tug her boots back on.  “Yes, it is.  I should probably go.”

“…that’s not what I meant, little bird.  It’s late.  We should get some rest.  You go ahead and take the bed.”

“No, papa.  I couldn’t.  Really, I’ll just go down to the tavern and—”

“You’ll do no such thing.” Greagoir spoke, frowning at her sternly just like he did when she was only as tall as his hip.  “Take the bed, Moira.  I have another mattress under the bed that I’ll pull out.  It does get cold in here at night, so be sure to bundle up tightly.  It never bother me as I…just…run warm these days.  You get some rest now.”

Moira didn’t need to guess at what that meant.  She bit back the question on the tip of her tongue.  Was he withdrawing from lyrium?  By the strong scent of it around the hut, she’d assume he wasn’t.  But it wasn’t hard to believe if he was.  The Chantry eventually cut the older templars off and let them suffer to death.  When would he be cut off?  Or was he already?  With those question came a swell of righteous anger at the Order for what it put their men and women through.  She bade him goodnight and crawled into bed, trying hard to ignore the nagging feeling in her heart.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life loves to delay me. Here's the next of this one! Hope you all enjoy!


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

**Save Me and the Bodkin**

Moira heard him again.  For the last three months, she’d wake just about every other night to the sound of her father shuffling across the hut to where he’d set up a second bed for her.  He’d stand over her as she’d pretend to still be asleep.  Just as he was tonight.  He bent and tucked her hair behind her ear as he did all the other nights with a sigh of relief. 

“I still remember her face…thank the Maker…” He whispered again before he kissed her brow and shuffled back to his bed.  Once his soft snores picked up again, she cried into her hands to stifle the sound. 

Whenever Greagoir thought she wasn’t looking, he’d take a little sip of lyrium here or there.  Probably nothing compared to his younger years when he needed it far more.  But still.  He was forgetful.  He’d stop mid-step and stare off into space sometimes before coming to himself with a confused frown.  Sometimes he’d ask a question to the thin air as though a phantom were standing beside him.  The worst was _always_ when he would sit on his bed and talk to her mother as though she were sitting beside him.  He’d talk away, laugh softly, and then begin to weep as he called her name.  She buried her head in her hands during those times and tried to will herself not to hear him. 

When she woke again that morning, she greeted him with a kiss to his brow before heading outside to do some simple gardening work.  She’d found she wasn’t half bad at tending to a small crop of potatoes, corn, carrots, and lettuce.  It was a good way to get away for a bit.  She spent the next few hours weeding, thinning, and picking whatever they needed for the next few days.  She cleaned a spare set of carrots off and took them to the horses.  Boots thudded on the front porch, making her lean back and look over at Greagoir as he leaned over the railing.

“What do you say to a nice hot meal at the tavern today?”

Moira smiled, “sounds good.  I could go for some of Stockard’s ale.”

“Damn finest ale to be had,” Greagoir grinned back.

“Let me finish up here and then we can go.”

Moira took the vegetables to the root cellar and stashed the potatoes and carrots there before bringing the rest into the preserve bin.  Once she had that settled, she washed up and grabbed her cloak.  They both saddled their horses and then rode back into where the tavern was.  Tying the horses off, they walked inside to find two strange men around her age seated at a table with obvious signs of having been in a fight.  Greagoir paused at their table.

“You two look like you’ve seen better days.”

The first man sighed, rubbing his face, “you don’t know the half of it.”

Moira ran his accent over in her head until it clicked to why it sounded somewhat familiar.  “Are you from the Anderfels?”

The other man straightened a bit, “yes…how could you tell?”

“Your accent.  I traveled a lot over the last five years.  What happened?”

The first man looked angry, “we were attacked by damned bandits.  But of course, couldn’t be just _any_ bandits.  No.  They had to have a bloody mage with them.  The mage hit our wares cart with an immolation spell and burned everything we had to ash!  Now we have to figure out how to get the barrels of mead, ale, wine, and whiskey we’ve contracted the farmers here for _back_ to our village.  Without a cart or horse as they killed our steed.”

Greagoir frowned, motioning Moira to follow him.  She smiled to the two men and followed her father to a corner.  “We have a cart and two fine steeds to choose from.”

“What are you saying?”

Greagoir glanced over at the two men and back, “I’m saying…we can rent it out to them.  Help them get home.  Or, _you_ can help them.”

Moira shifted, opening her mouth to protest only to be cut off by his raised hand.

“Don’t give me that.  I’ve seen you.  You need something else to do and sticking around me all the time isn’t going to cut it.  It’s in your bones to help people and be _out there_ doing things.  I can handle myself for a while.  I think it’d be good for you.  Unless you really don’t want to.”

Fidgeting in place, Moira finally sighed with a nod.  “I am a bit restless; I’ll admit it.”

“More than a bit, I’d say.” Greagoir chuckled at her.

“Okay, _more_ than a bit.  But, why now?  Why them?”

“They’re templars.  At least they were.  I can feel it.  Plus, the Maker sent them _here_ of all places that happens to have an owner of a cart.  Seems a bit like providence to me.”

“Or…coincidence is strong?”

“I don’t believe in coincidences.”

“Of course you don’t…” Moira grumbled to herself and nodded.  “I’ll go talk with them.  I’m still getting that ale and a bowl of stew though.”

“What kind of papa would I be if I didn’t feed my little bird first?”

“Exactly,” Moira pointed at him before walking back over to the men.  “We happen to own a cart we’d be willing to rent to you to get your wares back to your village.  My father isn’t able to make the journey, but I am.”

“…really?” The first man perked up.  “You’d just…do that for strangers?”

“My father is a retired Knight-Commander.”

“I thought he held himself like one of us.” The second one smiled, “we’re most grateful, miss.  When would it be convenient for you to leave?”

“Once I have my supper, I’ll go fetch the cart for you to load up and we can be on our way.”

“That’s really wonderful news.  I’m Maksim, this is my cousin, Ilya.” The first man introduced himself.

“Moira,” she held her hand out and shook both their hands.  “I’m also a fighter, so bandits…won’t be an issue.”

“That’s even better.” Ilya sighed.

Moira stepped away to have the last meal for a while with her father.  Afterwards, she did as she said she would and brought the cart back.  The two templars loaded their wares up into the cart where she’d put a few sacks of vegetables in as her father had requested her to do over their supper.  The sun was just beginning to lower when they loaded up and she urged Grizzly forward.  Waving goodbye to her father as they went off, she took a deep breath and released it slowly. 

Maksim gave directions before they sat back.  An easy conversation started up, talking over foods, drinks, and different places in the world that were interesting to see firsthand.  Moira found herself enjoying the venture thus far.  The two men seemed to be a decent sort.  She wondered just how many templars were actually good people.  She ignored that little voice of distrust in the back of her head about templars.  She couldn’t say her time with the Ostwick templars had been…worthy of trust.  She stamped down that particular trail of thoughts knowing it would only lead her to darker recollections she’d rather not relive or think on. 

…..

Maksim leaned back against the seat beside Moira.  He lifted his gloved hand and pointed ahead further on the road where the trees began to thin again and the hints of light peeked through the thicket.  “Just right ahead there is our little humble abode.”

“Is it a fairly large village?  Given the sizeable amount of goods you’ve procured along the way here, I’m assuming there’s a fair amount of people there.”

“We’ve only been there for around three months ourselves.  But around thirty or so strong?  Maybe forty?  It’s hard to tell sometimes.” Ilya shrugged from where he sat in the back. 

“There’s a few more than come every month from what I’ve seen,” Maksim sighed, rolling his shoulders. 

Moira felt a fissure of a familiar feeling ripple down her spine.  She quickly pulled Grizzly to a stop and was on her feet in an instant.  Her hand on her weapon, flicking it from the sheath.  She didn’t need to say a word as both men were on their feet and leaping down in a flash.  Both had their swords out.  Just as the tingle intensified, Moira begrudgingly called up her own mana in response.  She blanketed the cart in a protective spell just in time.  A fireball meant to light the cart ablaze and kill Grizzly rebounded from the barrier.  She ran over the barrel and flipped over one of the first assailants that burst from the cover of the trees to attack them.  Her sickle flew from her hand as she spun around, unwrapping the chain about her middle.  The bandit dodged the blade and laughed.  She gave a precise tug on the chain at the right moment and hooked the wicked edge into the man’s shoulder.  With a spin and full-bodied pull downward, the embedded blade tore through flesh and muscle.  A pained scream rent the air. 

As her hand caught the handle, she moved back to him, slicing his throat with it.  From there, she turned to engage the next enemy.  This one was larger with a shield and axe.  He eyed her warily and kept his distance and shield up.  He’d seen what she could do.  Moira and he circled one another, sizing each other up.  Then the other mage made their appearance.  With a hissed curse, Moira leapt out of the way of an ice rune as it was activated below her feet.  A bit of the ice spell caught her heel.  She growled as she landed a bit off balance.  Spinning the blade around, she created a circular fan of death.  She rotated it up over her head.  The warrior lifted his shield wisely as she ran forward.  The mage, however, raised a wall of fire thinking that was enough.  Let go of the chain, ducking down as she did so.  It propelled off wildly in the direction of the mage.  She barely caught the end ball weight in time.  The mage let out the most disturbing mixture of a scream and a shriek.  Their right arm fell to the ground, their now stub spurting blood with each heartbeat.  They fell to their knees, trying to cover the wound.  Yanking her weapon back, she dove over the fire wall and was about to bring her blade down when the warrior came barreling at her.  She turned and ran. 

Moira ran three good climbing strides up a tree and contorted her body to twist and rotate over the warrior.  She landed behind him in a kicked him square in the base of his spine, slamming him face first into the tree.  She hooked her blade into the same spot of his spine that she’d kicked and wrenched the sickle curve through his bones and nerves with her entire body weight.  He crumbled to the ground with a cry.  Knowing he’d not be getting up ever again, she turned and found the mage gone.  Sneering in anger that the bastard had gotten away, she knelt and snapped the warrior’s neck.  No need to leave him to suffer without her other target still nearby.  The sounds of fighting still were coming from the cart.  Grizzly’s neighing and angry whinnying made her feet pick up pace as she jogged back up to the road.  Ser Maksim was facing a rather giant of a man with a huge war hammer.  Ser Ilya was also fighting two sword bearing bandits.  There were several archers around as well.  She was about to set her sights on the archers, sneaking over to dispatch them when she spotted Maksim get hit.  He slammed into the cart and slid to the ground in pain.  The war hammer grinned as he moved to swing at Maksim’s head while he was down.  Moira charged him leaping onto his back.  The mountain of a man was distracted by her attack enough that he forgot Maksim.  However, that meant he was focused on her.  She saw the archers suddenly fall as other’s arrived to help.  She assumed from their village ahead. 

An enormous hand grabbed the back of her tightly tied leather armor bodice.  She hardly had time to say _‘shit’_ before she was flung like a ragdoll over his shoulder and into his raised knee.  Tucking her body just enough to keep herself from having her own spine broken, she felt a very sharp and distinctive _snap_ in her chest before the pain exploded.  Bloodied spittle blew from her lips as she was thrown aside.  Rolling, she began to crawl away pathetically.  Her vision was blurry.

“Miss Moira!!” Maksim cried out.

She closed her eyes and awaited the inevitable.  This…this was not going to be a quick death.  With a spite she wasn’t the least bit surprised at, she rolled over and raised both hands.  Summoning a lightning bolt spell to her hands, she charged it and let it fly.  She wasn’t going to die without taking the fucker with her.  She felt satisfaction ignite as she watched the bolt hit him full on in the chest.  Then it fizzled as he staggered, shook it off, and glared at her with renewed hatred. 

”Aw…fuck.” She sighed, dropping her head back.  So much for that plan… _‘Sorry papa…guess I won’t be coming back.’_

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bum bum bum!! 
> 
> I know, cliffhanger.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

**Before I Forget**

It had been over six years since Cullen had left the Order.  Since his last draft of lyrium.  That didn’t mean he’d lost his ability to feel certain types of mana.  Especially the type that accompanied a rather strong mage’s spell.  It didn’t bode well with him.  He turned to Rylen who mirrored his uneasy look.  They dropped their hammers and ran for their cabins.  Grabbing their swords and shields, they ran for the road that led back to the forest where the explosion of magic had come from.  Meeting them there were Adelaide, Rela, Barris, and Harvyn.  They didn’t need to say anything.  Turned out, they were wise to heed their instincts. 

The sight they came upon was not a good one.  Ser Ilya of the Anderfels was fighting three different men, killing one as they neared.  He was stumbling back, looking exhausted and injured.  Ser Maksim, his cousin, stood facing a man who looked kin to the Avvar in size.  He watched Maksim get bat aside with ease.  He motioned to the other four to go for the archers upon their arrival.  Rylen dispatched the nearest one and ran to aid Ilya.  Then Cullen witnessed a small woman leap upon the monster man’s back.  With horror, he realized he knew said woman.  What the bloody void was Moira doing here?!  She was then plucked from the man’s back like a pesky vermin and slammed into his knee before being tossed aside.  He didn’t wait another second and charged at the giant man’s back.  A fizzle went up, the man before him flinched before he made a very angry sound, raising his hammer up over his head.  Cullen rammed the man’s side, throwing his whole weight into the shield bash. 

The man staggered into a tree and spun, swinging his hammer wide and uncontrolled.  Cullen jumped back, pulling back his torso enough to avoid the blow.  He then charged again, slamming his shield into the man’s chest, running the huge one into the tree again.  Angling his blade, he stabbed up from under his shield and through the man’s chest cavity.  Twisting his blade, he wrenched it free and stepped back enough to finish the kill by piercing the man through the throat.  When his blade was halted by the tree behind the large warrior, he pulled his blade away and moved aside.  The large man fell, dead, to the dirty ground with a muted thud.  He didn’t look twice as he turned, wiping his blade and sheathing it as he jogged over to Moira.  Kneeling beside her, he felt his heart stop.  Her eyes were closed and blood coated her lips.

“Moira?”

“Mm?”

“You’re alive?  Thank the Maker!”

“Yes…I think.  Death isn’t supposed to feel painful to breathe through, is it?”

Cullen snorted out a chuckle despite himself, “no.  I’m told it’s supposed to be the _end_ of pain.”

“Who the bloody void decided that pain was a good sign of life?”

“I assume the Maker himself.  Come on, let’s get you to the healer’s hut.”  Cullen moved to lift her, stilling at her snarled curse of pain.  He hesitated. 

“Just…do it quick.  The less moving I do, the better.”

“I’ll do the best I can,” Cullen sighed and decided all at once was better than small movements.  He quickly picked her up and moved her to his chest.  She made a rather pitiful whimper that made him feel worse than had she been cursing his very name.  He called out to his men as he passed them to get the cart and follow back to the village.  He moved quickly, just a hair slower than outright jogging so as not to jostle her about.  Kicking the healer’s hut door open, he startled the herbalist out of her wits. 

Naren gasped at the sight of Moira in his arms and immediately began bustling about and issuing him instructions.  He laid Moira upon the nearest cot and stepped back, watching with worry as Naren flit around her.  Moira said something to Naren he didn’t quite catch and the herbalist nodded and rushed away.  She returned a mere moment later with a healing potion and helped Moira take it.  She then stepped back and made a shooing motion at Cullen.  He frowned at the healer, displeased with her for trying to dismiss him.

“I’d rather like to stay—”

“I need to be lifting the lady’s shirt to access her ribcage and aid in her healing, Commander!  Now shoo!”

“…o-oh…” Cullen flushed as he ducked out of the hut with a sigh.  He leaned against the wall and stared into space.  Rylen drove the supply cart back into the village and up to the healer’s hut.  In the back was Maksim.  Ilya sat beside him and jumped down to help unload Maksim.  Cullen turned to knock on the hut door, “Naren.  We have another injured.  Maksim.”

“I’ll be right there…” Naren spoke as the sound of things being dragged around were muffled through the door.  She then threw open the door and guided the group into the hut and over to the back.  “Where’s the injury on you, boy?”

Maksim frowned at being called boy by the elder woman but still answered, “my entire right side.  Especially my hip.”

“Considering you were thrown against a cart?  I would assume you’re broken.” Ilya sighed, standing over his cousin.

Naren set to work figuring out which bones were broken and which weren’t.  She set the three that had been.  After she splint and wrapped them, she gave him a healing potion and a numbing one.  Then she pulled Cullen aside. 

“That girl, she’s a mage.”

Cullen nodded, “yes.”

“She’s healing herself already.  I offered to find some lyrium to help, but she rather sharply declined.”

Cullen frowned, “she declined it?”

“Very…colorfully.” Naren stated with a bit of a disapproving look.  “Is it possible…?  For mages to recover from lyrium addiction as well?”

Cullen stood there, dumbfounded by the fact he’d never thought of that.  Mages used it far more frequently than templars.  Yet there were a few cases, at least that he’d encountered, of mages facing lyrium madness as well.  However, mages were inherently different from templars.  They drew from the Fade itself for their magic.  So the lyrium…did it affect them differently? 

“I can’t say that I know, Healer Naren.  But I seems rather plausible.  Keep me informed.”

“Of course, Commander.”

Cullen bowed his head and stepped away from the hut to return to his own cabin.  He needed to wash off the blood, after all.  He drew up a bath and sank into the water, scrubbing himself clean before he drained the bath, dried off, and changed into fresh cloths.  He grabbed a quick bite of bread and cold tea before he set back out to the healer’s hut.  He had shrugged on his old fur mantle from his days with the Inquisition.  It was warm while the nights grew chilly.  Adelaide waved to him as she and Ryla stepped into the tavern having obviously cleaned up and changed as well.  He returned the wave and moved onto the healer’s hut porch.  It’d been a good hour since he’d left earlier.  Stepping inside, he noted the Naren had turned the lamps down.  She looked up from her seat by the potions table. 

“How are they?”

“Ser Maksim fell asleep almost as soon as he drank the numbing potion.  The Miss is asleep but seems as though her magic is still working to heal her injury.  She wouldn’t let me examine her fully as she said she was capable of healing herself.  I don’t know the extent of her injury, but I assume from the bruising, she broke a rib.”

“I am unsurprised,” Cullen spoke drily, recalling the way she’d been slammed into a giant knee.  “Thank you, Naren.  I’d like to stay and watch over them.  I’ll fetch you should they need you for anything.  Please go get a hot meal and some rest.”

Naren smiled and rose, tucking the book she was reading onto the table.  “Thank you, Commander.”

“Please, Naren.  I’ve told you many times, just Cullen now.  I’m no longer a Commander.”

“You’ll be Commander until the day you die, boy.  You did the world a great deed and I suspect you’re still working toward that goal in secret some days.  You earned the title.  Wear it proudly.”

Cullen averted his gaze as she left.  Once she was gone, he moved to the door and whistled.  It took to roughly the count of fifteen before Pup burst from the undergrowth and came running.  He raised his hand in the signal to heel.  Pup bounded up and stopped, thumping his backside to the wooden porch floor.  His docked tail thumping excitedly on the wood.  Rolling his eyes with a smirk, Cullen stepped to the side and let the mabari inside.  Pup immediately went to Moira’s cot.  Cullen hissed and whispered out a corrective command.  Pup jotted back away and laid down, looking at Cullen. 

“Stay back, Pup.  You’re here because I thought you’d want to be close.  That’s all.”

Pup chuffed and dropped his head to his front paws. 

“Don’t give me that.  You will obey or you will not receive any juicy bones for a week.”

Pup whined, shifting in his spot.

“That’s what I thought.”

Cullen sat down and leaned back in his chair.  Crossing his arms, he looked at Moira’s resting face.  What was the Maker up to now?  Why was she _here_ of all places?  And with his men, no less?  A few hours passed by.  Cullen found himself reading a herbology tome out of sheer boredom when Naren stepped back inside.  He rose and set the tome back with the others on the bookcase in the corner. 

“Did you rest well?”

Naren nodded, “yes, Commander.  I’ll be good for the rest of the night.  They’re having trouble with the horse they brought back.  Seems irritable at best.”

Cullen swore under his breath, immediately apologizing to the older woman as she crossed her arms sternly.  “I’ll go handle that.  Grizzly seems a very picky sort.”

“Grizzly?  I thought the horse wasn’t ours?”

“It’s not.  It is hers.” At the raised brow, Cullen lifted his hands.  “It’s…complicated.  As usual.  I’ll explain tomorrow.  I swear.”

“If I had a copper for every time I heard _that_.”

Cullen felt rather like a young boy around this woman.  Leader or no, Naren had _quite_ the mannerism to make _anyone_ here feel like a scolded child.  Taking his leave with Pup on his heel, he moved to the stables.  As he neared, he could hear Grizzly causing quite a racket.  He walked inside and saw a few of his men trying to quell the horse without getting bit or kicked.  At the sight of him, they quickly rushed to him to explain.  He listened patiently as they detailed what a royal pain the horse was being.

“Jonas, fetch me a few apples.” Cullen replied, watching Grizzly closely.  The man nodded and rushed to go grab a few from a bin at the end of the stables.  He came back and Cullen took them.  He told Pup to sit and stay as he slowly approached the angered mare.  “Grizzly…whoa girl…whoa there.  Look what I have.”

Grizzly stamped her front right hoof, snorting. 

Cullen kept his voice calm and level, holding up the apple.  Grizzly eyed it warily.  “That’s a girl…you like apples don’t you?  Moira mentioned them before.”

Grizzly whickered and shifted about.  He paused a few feet from her, holding out the apple.  Grizzly watched him and then slowly, cautiously, inched toward him.  He held perfectly still as she leaned her head down and took a large bite of the apple.  She seemed to be weighing her opinion of him.  But she continued to eat the apple until it was finished.  Cullen watched her, keeping himself fairly still.  She then moved and nudged him sharply with a soft chortling sound.  Taking that as a good sign, he withdrew another apple with less hesitation and held it to her.  She immediately began chomping away at it happily.  As she did so, he reached up and gently stroked her head and neck. 

“That’s a good girl…”

“Commander, how…?”

“I know her owner.” Cullen said over his shoulder.  “I’ll get her settled.  You two leave.  She’s uneasy around strangers.”

“…apparently,” Jonas spoke as they both left him. 

As soon as they were gone, Grizzly relaxed tenfold.  Cullen was able to guide her into a stall.  He grabbed a brush and began to brush her down before he shut her in.  He grabbed a water pale and a sack of oats, moving them to where she could easily get them. 

“You’re safe here, Grizzly.  Rest, girl.  I’ll come check on you in the morning.”

Grizzly seemed to take that well as she settled in comfortably enough for him to walk away.  He stopped by his own horse’s stall, reaching over to give his own horse a good rub on his neck.  He then headed back toward his cabin.  Turning in for the night, Cullen hardly was able to sleep.  For once, it wasn’t nightmares that kept him awake, but rather the knowledge that once more…Moira was brought into his life.  He couldn’t get that out of his head.  Or her from his mind.  Just like before, after their first meeting, she plagued his thoughts constantly.  Then…here she was.  Again. 

The sun began to rise and with it, he did as well.  The first place he went was the stalls.  Grizzly was sleeping contently.  He found her oats just about emptied as well as her water.  Replacing them, he snuck an apple into the oat bag with a smile.  After he did the same for his own steed, he made his way to the healer’s hut.  He sat beside Moira’s cot.  Naren slept on a spare cot near Maksim’s.  An hour passed by and he heard the village stir as everyone began to rise and go about their business.  Naren rose and wasn’t at all surprised to see him, apparently.  Ilya came in not too long after to sit with his cousin.  When Maksim woke, the two men conversed for a while.  Naren left to get some breakfast.

Cullen rubbed his brows, leaning forward onto his elbows.

“You look like shit.”

Cullen turned to Moira, scoffing, “and good morning to you as well.”

* * *

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

**When I See You Again**

Moira could feel her ribs were almost completely mended.  She tested her lungs, filling them slowly and pressing them outwards.  A bit of discomfort remained, but it wasn’t due to the hole any longer.  She heard a rustling movement beside her.  Opening her eyes, she studied the figure beside her.  So, it hadn’t been a strange dream.  Cullen _had_ been the one to save her and bring her to a healer’s hut.  She noted the tired draw to his face and posture.  Feeling guilty without entirely understanding why, she decided to deflect her guilt with poor humor.

“You look like shit.”

He turned to look at her and scoffed, “well good morning to you as well.”

She shifted and grimaced as she pushed herself to sit up.  His mouth turned down into a frown.

“How are you feeling?”

“Honestly?” She asked; he nodded.  “Like the Maker drop kicked my sorry ass.”

“That’s quite the visual.”

“Anything to do with my ass is quite the visual, I assure you.”

Cullen laughed, shaking his head.  “I’m glad to see your poor humor has not diminished.”

“Of course not.”

He stood to move the chair so that he faced her.  Leaning back in it once seated again, he spoke softly, “did you find him?”

Moira didn’t need any context.  She knew what he was talking about.  “Yes.”

Cullen smiled warmly at her, “I am very glad to hear it.  I assume from the tone of voice, it went well?”

“Better than well,” she softly chuckled.  “He’s…just as I remember.  A bit older, grayer…”

Cullen snorted.

“But he’s still papa.  You know?” Moira looked to Cullen as she spoke.

“I am glad you took my advice.  I’m certain he is too.”

“Yes, well…” Moira glared at him playfully then.  Reaching over, she punched his leg.  “You, on the other hand, are in trouble.  Why didn’t you ever mention you were Cullen _Rutherford_?  _Commander of the Inquisition_?  Imagine _how stupid_ I felt when my father, of all people, told me your full name.”

A shadow passed over his face, “is…is that…all he told you?”

“No,” she openly admitted.  Watching him flinch made her angry.  But not with him.  “You had your reasons.”

“To wish for _innocent_ deaths?”

“How many templars were innocent of the atrocities some committed?” Moira countered, watching him frown and look down at his feet.  “Exactly.  And yet there was a time when I would have watched templars burn without an ounce of remorse.  Perhaps even rejoiced in the sight.”

Cullen looked up at her then, a potent look cast over his face.  It was understanding.  He knew what she was saying.  Felt it, from the darkened pit hidden deep in his amber colored eyes.  He’d felt similarly about mages once.  And there was not a single, solitary soul that could possibly blame him if he had seen blood magic and the taint of it first-hand.  If people knew, _truly knew_ , what some templars had _done_ and gotten away with…they’d understand the hatred and animosity of mages towards the men and women of the Order.  A hefty silence weighed over them until Moira broke eye contact with him first.  He cleared his throat, but she refused to look at him. 

“I’m sorry.”

She frowned and lifted her gaze to him again, this time in confusion.  “For what?”

“For whatever you had inflicted upon you by the very men or women who were supposed to help keep you safe.”

Moira swallowed thickly, dropping her gaze to her lap again.  “It was…a long time ago.  Best left in the past.”

“The past always finds a way to rear itself, especially to haunt us, doesn’t it?”

“I wish I could deny that,” she stifled a yawn. 

Cullen moved to his feet.  He tried to muffle a groan of pain but she hear it still.  He straightened and grimaced a bit.  “Once the healer gives the all clear, I highly recommend you come have a hot bite at the tavern.  It’s just across the way from here.  We have a cook that is a master with food.”

“Ooh…see?  Now that’s what a woman _wants_ to hear.  Not sweet nothings, or fluffy gifts of flowers or lace.  A _good_ tasting hot meal is the _true_ way to win over a woman.”

Cullen laughed, shaking his head.  “I’ll have to keep that in mind next time I attempt to woo a lady.  Feed her first.”

“Works like a charm, I swear it.” Moira snickered, grinning widely.

He turned, still shaking his head as he waved over his shoulder.  It was at that point she saw the huge mabari at the foot of her bed.  The sound that she made was somewhere between a gasp and a squeal.  It had Cullen spinning back to her with obvious alarm.  She was wiggling in place, eyes huge, and desperately trying to contain herself. 

“Are you all right?  Is something hurting?  Should I call the heal--?”

“Is that a _mabari_?!”

“…uh…er…yes…?  Is he scaring you?”

“What?!  No!  I’ve always wanted to play with one!!”

Cullen stared at her blankly before shifting his gaze to the large war hound.  The gray beast’s nubby tail was wagging ridiculously.  It probably was quite the sight, she would later muse to herself.  She and the canine both practically wiggling and wagging simultaneously, just awaiting permission to dote upon one another.  Cullen made a motion of acquiescence with a simple command of, _‘go ahead’_ before the gray mabari loped over to her in one huge bound.  The weight of the dog hit her and knocked her back.  She didn’t even care that it hurt enough to make her grunt.  She heard Cullen swear but she couldn’t contain the peal of overjoyed laughter as she began to scratch and pet the huge dog.  The dog reacted by rolling over to expose his belly to her.  She gleefully rubbed his belly, all the while cooing at the animal random nonsense about being a _good boy_ or _the bestest boy_.

“Maker, you are going to undo all my hard work training that overgrown puppy…” Cullen groused without any actual anger or venom.

Moira looked up sheepishly as she sang, “sorry!”

“Ha!  That I highly doubt.  I need to go tend to a few things…” Cullen eyed the dog, “Pup.  Come.”

Pup, as he was named, whined loudly as he moved away from Moira.  Pup cast huge, brown, begging eyes at her.  Her heart broke and she looked up at Cullen with a pleading look.

“Can he stay…?”

Cullen looked at her as though she’d grown a second head.  “You… _want_ him around?”

“Are you kidding me?” Moira looked at Pup, “this is like a dream.”

“…if you’re certain, I’m sure he’d love the attention.  Little attention grabber that he is…”

“I’m beyond certain.”

“All right…Pup.  Guard the lady.”

Pup made a chuff and returned to Moira’s side, laying down and rolling over.  She grinned and rubbed his belly again.  “That’s the good boy you are!”

Pup’s tongue lolled out of his mouth.  Cullen snorted and turned, leaving them.  It was a good half hour before the healer came in.  When she did, the woman stopped and looked down at Pup dubiously.

“What in the Maker’s loving name is _Pup_ doing here?  Andraste save me, but I’ll whoop that boy if I find out he brought this beast in here without my permission to pester my patients—”

“Oh no!  I asked him to.” Moira quickly butt in, not caring if it was _technically_ half true.  “I love mabari so much that I begged Cullen to leave him here.”

The older woman sighed heavily, rubbing her face.  “Oh all right then.  Let me check you over.  You shouldn’t be able to be up just yet with the wound you had.”

“I remember, all be it blurrily, telling you I was a mage?”

“Yes, you did.  But still, magic only heals so much, girl.  Now, lift your shirt a bit and let me have a look.”

Moira sighed and complied finally.  The woman’s hands were cold on her skin.  She wasn’t able to contain the tiny squeak of shock as the other woman settled her hands over Moira’s side.  The look the older woman gave her was quite reminiscent to one of the elder enchanters who’d been tasked with overseeing the youths at Ostwick Circle.  Dropping her gaze and immediately falling into some semblance of obedience, Moira toyed with the threadbare blanket edge. 

“You’ll be sore for a few days, that’s for certain.  But as far as feeling any bones still out of place or broken, you seem to be free from that danger.  Next time, try not to battle something so much larger than yourself.”

“But that takes all the fun out of it.”

The woman rolled her eyes and huffed as she stood.  “If I catch you back in here with such an injury after tempting the Maker’s mercy again, girl…I swear it, I’ll not treat you!  Now get dressed and get going.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Moira moved to her feet, a bit sluggishly as she still was sore.  Once on her feet, she tugged her vest back over her cotton tunic and laced it far looser than she preferred.  Hooking her hide coat over her arms, she tugged her boots on and pat her side for Pup to follow her.  The mabari fell into step with her as they slipped out of the healer’s hut.  Shielding her eyes from the bright morning sun, Moira blinked several times to adjust to the sunshine.  Several people were bustling about.  Men and women talked and seemed to be busy with different tasks.  A man walked a druffulo by on a lead-line, two women carried crates of supplies into a large building just across the way, another man and woman both held laundry baskets…

“Are you lost?”

Moira turned at the thick Orlesian accent.  A woman holding a wicker basket of bread stood just off to the left of the porch.  The woman’s green eyes were narrowed in suspicion. 

“No.  Well, maybe a little.  Which one is the tavern again?  I was told I could get a meal there.”

The woman quirked a brow but turned to point at the large building the two women had carried supply crates into moments before.  “There.  Are you guest here or a new recovering templar?”

 _Recovering templar?_   “I suppose a guest would be the most apt description, given the circumstances.”

“I see.”

“Thank you for the point out.” Moira nodded with a small smile. 

The woman didn’t return the smile but instead continued to glower at her.  Moira shrugged and stepped down off the porch, Pup following instantly. 

“Why is Pup following you so?”

Moira rolled her eyes before turning to face the woman, “he likes me?”

“…Pup doesn’t just _like_ anyone.” The woman interjected, glaring more pointedly at Moira.  “What did you do to entice the mabari so?”

“Entice…” Moira repeated slowly, “I didn’t seduce him if that’s what you’re asking.  I may like my men broad and tough, but even _I_ have my standards…”

The woman made a disgusted face and stamped her foot.  Spinning around, she marched away spewing _very_ unkind Orlesian insults as she went.  Moira turned back to the tavern and finished crossing the main thoroughfare of sorts.  She no more than set foot inside when she was once more stopped.  This time, by a vaguely familiar face.

“Aye!  Lass!  You’re up and at ‘em earlier than anticipated!”

“Rylen…wasn’t it?”

“Aye, in the flesh.”

“Good to see you.”

“Agreed there,” Rylen turned and gestured with a gentlemanly sweep of his arm.  “How about some hot bread, butter, and honey?”

“That sounds like sin.”

Rylen laughed, leading the way to a table further ahead.  “The _really_ good stuff comes out ‘round the midday meal and evening supper.”

“Oh, I see.  Only the _good_ food is served during the later hours.”

“Hafta keep the lovely ladies about these parts somehow,” Rylen winked as she sat down.  A snort escaped her in reply at his flirting.  Pup shifted his head onto her lap.  Rylen cocked his head to the side, “now that there’s a sight none of us have seen too often.”

“I’m getting the impression this guy isn’t the friendliest to others?” Moira asked, completely flabbergasted as she rubbed Pup’s ears.

“Oh no!  He’s friendly all right!  _If_ you’re good with the Commander, that is.  Usually takes him a bit of sweeting up before he’s all right with you.  There’s some ‘round here that Pup just simply…won’t go near or let near.  He really doesn’t care for Orlesians, I’ll tell you that.”

Moira chuckled, “can anyone really blame him?  Who _does_ care for Orlesians besides Orlesians?”

Rylen grinned as he waved to someone back by the bar counter.  “Knew you were a good egg.”

“Egg?  Oh no, no, no.  You’ve got me all wrong, Rylen.  I’m no egg.  I’m the whole blasted chicken.”

The answering guffaw from the Starkhavener was well worth the piss-poor joke.  He wiped a stray tear of mirth from his eye before he tried to speak, “I s’pose now would be the best time to let you know.  Your cart is being repaired.  Once we have it all back up to snuff, we’ll gladly give you some traveling supplies if you wish to be on your way.  Though…have to say…knowing what a good healer you are, might be worth seeing if there’s any way you’d be willing to help out ‘round here.”

“Are you trying to offer me a job, Rylen?  Or entice me to stay?”

Rylen smirked at her, “well, if I didn’t value my life…I’d say the latter.  But even I know when I’ve been bested before I’ve even really tried.”

Moira’s brows furrowed as he stood, nodding to her.  She was cut off from inquiring any further as the tavern waitress brought over a nice plate of still steaming bread with a slab of butter and a cup of honey.  With it, she set down a nice large mug of pleasant-smelling tea.  Moira inhaled deeply, humming her appreciation as the mouth-watering aroma of freshly baked bread and honey wafted into her nose. 

“Here you are, miss.”

“Rutherford said to put that right on his tab, as well as the next two meals.” Rylen spoke to the woman who smiled warmly and nodded.

“Certainly.  Thank you, Rylen.”

Rylen nodded and bade Moira farewell for now before he made his exit.  Once the door was shut, Ellie turned to her. 

“Least the scenery’s always nice around here.”

Moira giggled, “are you talking about the trees or…?”

“We’re in a village comprised of former templars, love.  A day that goes by when I don’t see a rather finely chiseled man without a shirt on is a sad day indeed.”

“It’s that common?”

Ellie grinned, shooting her a look that practically screamed, _‘just go look for yourself.’_   The waitress sauntered away, leaving Moira both amused and slightly perturbed.  Not that she was some virginal maid that blushed easily but…even _she_ had _some_ decency and propriety.  Not _much_ , of course.  But _some_.  Her breakfast was heavenly as she bit into a chunk of bread, liberally slathered in butter _and_ honey.  The tea was also very warming.  Once her belly was full and content, she rose and tried to help Ellie clear her spot.  Ellie bat her hands away and shooed her from the tavern.  Glancing down at Pup on the other side of the firmly shut tavern door, Moira shrugged. 

“Guess that’s that.”

Pup barked and wagged his nubby tail.  Moira pat his head and scanned around for something to pass the time with.  Her eyes settled on the stables.  It didn’t take her feet long at all to reach them.  The moment she stepped inside; a familiar whinny called out.  Rushing to Grizzly’s stall, she greeted her steed warmly.  Grizzly nuzzled her and bumped her almost too roughly as she stumbled a small step.  After tending to Grizzly until the horse was satiated, she found herself back at the healer’s hut.  Knocking tentatively, the older woman opened the door.

“Yes?  Who broke what now?  Oh…”

Moira waved, feeling hellaciously out of place suddenly.  “I, uh, is there anything I can help you with?  Or would I just be a bother in the way?”

The woman stared at her before stepping aside, moving instantly to point at a potion mixing station.  “I need twenty more of them healing potions mixed up before the evening.  Then I need another ten pain relieving tonics afterwards.  Never know when these templars need somethin’ to curb that awful headache.”

Moira felt stunned for a moment before she felt an honest smile grow as she rolled up her sleeves and set to work.  Time sped by as she was busy at work.  She didn’t even notice when midday passed by.  She was just corking the last bottle of pain-relieving tonic when the other woman touched her arm. 

“That should do it.  You’re a diligent worker there, girl.”

“I try.  I don’t think I ever introduced myself to you properly.  I’m Moira.”

“Guess we both are guilty of that.  Naren.  If you find yourself needing something to do, I’ll take your help again.  Haven’t had a decent hand to help me with potions and tonics who _knew_ what they were doing in…well, never.  Never had one.”

Pride bloomed in her chest at the humble praise.  “As long as I’m here, please…toss me at whatever you need done.  Idle hands, as they say.”

“Idle hands cause too bloody many headaches, I say.” Naren harrumphed before she looked out the window.  “Maker bless my soul!  It’s already dark!  If I’m this hungry, you must be half starved.  I need to check on that dolt back there, make sure he’s fed and comfy.  You go on ahead and get yourself some food, Moira.”

“Yes, enchan—er…Naren.  I—I’m so sorry.  I don’t—”

“Oh hush you.  Old habits die hard.  Even after so long.” Naren gave her a patient look, “don’t try to run from your past so much, Moira.  Makes it easier to overtake you.  Face it and it can’t catch you unawares.”

Unsure of what to say, Moira bowed her head respectfully and ducked out of the hut.  The torch lamps were lit all around the village.  The warm glow was oddly comforting.  She noted the lack of Pup at her side as he must have grown bored with her lack of attentions to him as she’d been working.  Crossing the main path through the village, the evening air was fairly warm and comfortable.  That edge that usually accompanied the night was being held at bay.  As she neared the tavern, music, laughter, and conversation all muffled through the door.  She paused for a long moment, just absorbing the joyful sounds before she stepped inside.  It all flowed over her as not a soul paused to stare at her.  They continued on as if nothing had changed and it was…refreshing.  Wading through the gathered people, she cast a glance for an open chair anywhere.  A hand waving caught her attention.  Rylen was waving her over to a table where he and Cullen sat.  She made her way over and was mildly surprised as Cullen rose and pulled out a chair for her. 

Sinking into it, she smiled at him.  His returning smile was pleasant and sent a tingling heat racing through her from head to her toes only to settle in her lower belly.  Not even a full moment later, a heaping bowl of steaming hot stew was placed before her with another hunk of glorious bread.  Ellie winked at her before slipping back away. 

“Did you have a good day?” Cullen asked as he sat back in his chair, idly scratching Pup’s ears.  Moira just realized he was there because of Cullen’s motions. 

“Surprisingly, yes.  I kind of thought I’d be…in the way or something of the sort.  But I helped Naren mix up potions and tonics.”

Rylen pulled a face, “ _that’s_ a good day?  That woman could make a grown man _cry_ just with a look.”

“Are you speaking from experience, Rylen?” Moira teased.

“Ha!” Rylen tossed a broken cracker at her over the table lantern.  Moira brushed it off her vest, snickering.

“Well then, I’d say you _more_ than earned this meal.” Cullen added, nodding to her still full bowl.  Moira agreed without needing to say a word as she dug into the stew.  As she ate, a small part of her began to wonder…what if?   What if she stayed after all…?

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine Naren as a sassier, more grizzled version of Wynn. Just without the magic.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine  
** **People Say Crazy Things**

Listening to Moira and Rylen throw barbs back and forth across the table was oddly relaxing.  Cullen sat back, chuckling quietly at the way the two bickered like they’d known each other since childhood.  Moira insulted Rylen’s heritage, Rylen insulted her accent, so on and so forth.  All in good humor, of course.  Pup growled lowly.  Cullen dropped his gaze to the canine.  If it weren’t for his hand on the mabari’s back, he’d not have known Pup was even growling as the noise of the tavern drowned it out.  It took him all of a few seconds to realize _why_.  He groaned audibly, gaining the attention of his two table-mates.  Rylen caught on within a moment as he spotted what Cullen was studiously trying to ignore. 

Mounice D’artAugn moved toward their table with clear purpose on her face.  She smiled prettily at Cullen and stepped up as close as Pup would allow her to get to his side.  The Orlesian woman glanced at Pup warily before she returned her gaze to him.  She bent just enough to give him a rather bold display of her corseted bosom.  Cullen quickly averted his gaze, embarrassed _for_ her. 

“Commander, how are you this evening?” Mounice asked with an overdone sultry tone.  In the corner of his eye, he spotted Rylen rolling his eyes as the Starkhaven templar took a swig of ale. 

“I’m well, thank you.  Is your brother doing better today?” Cullen tried to stay civil as he was basically the chosen leader of this encampment. 

“He is, thanks to your wonderful hospitality.”

“That is good to hear.  Have you met Moira?” Cullen tried to change the topic.  Rylen flinched and Cullen shot him a confused look.  Rylen met his gaze, obviously trying hard not to laugh.  What on Thedas was the matter with Rylen?

“Oh…” Mounice’s tone had him returning his gaze to her, “yes.  In passing, of course.”

Moira’s lips were in a thinned smile, her eyes weren’t jovial as they’d been moments before.  Instead there was a very different spark in them.  “Yes, I do recall speaking to you earlier today.”

Maker’s breath, was it colder in here?  Cullen shifted uncomfortably in his chair as he realized there were many pairs of eyes suddenly trained over on them.

“I see Pup still likes your presence.  A rarity.  I’m certain you’re enjoying his company?” Mounice asked, something in her question made Cullen feel like he was missing something.

“He’s a mabari.  What’s not to love?” Moira clipped back.

“I didn’t say—” Mounice straightened then, a very strained smile on her face.  “Forgive me.  I seem to be forgetting the time.  My brother needs me to hasten back.  Have a good evening, Ms. Moira.  Captain… _Commander_ ,” Mounice purred his title before she bowed her head and continued on her way through the tavern.  Once she was gone, the sound came back gradually until everyone was back to pretending they hadn’t just eavesdropped and stared at the exchange. 

Cullen released a slow breath and turned to Moira.  “That was—”

“Awkward as the void.” Rylen supplied, taking another gulp of ale.

Moira reached down to rub Pup’s head at the same moment Cullen did.  Cullen blinked, looking up at her as she started at the unintentional touch.  Her cheeks flushed a bit with color.  Cullen found he adored that look on her face.  She pulled her hand back and cleared her throat. 

“I take it you two are…well acquainted?” Moira asked, gesturing toward where Mounice had disappeared to.

“Well acquainted?  Hm.  I can’t say we’re _well_ acquainted; at least no more than usual.” Cullen shrugged, reaching for his glass.  Rylen’s boot connected with his shin, making him look up sharply to glare at his friend.  About to ask what the bloody void was the matter with him, he caught Rylen’s wide-eyed look.  Something between alarm and horror, the darker haired man gestured to Moira with his chin.  Cullen turned to look at her.  She was sitting far straighter than before and tapping a finger on the table.  She was keeping her gaze turned away. 

“I see…” She drawled, an edge to her voice that made Cullen feel precariously close to trouble.  He wracked his brain for whatever he’d said to make her so…displeased?  Was that the emotion she was giving off?  She turned then, a smile that was painfully too bright.  “Well!  I think I should head along to bed.  Good evening Rylen, Cullen.  Thank you for a _lovely_ meal.”  She rose and turned on her heel. 

Rylen swore under his breath in his native tongue.  Cullen turned to his best mate.  “What was that about?”

Rylen glared at him, shaking his head.  “You bloody daft twatbag!  She was askin’ if you and Mounice were _well acquainted_.”

Cullen glared back, insulted, ”I’m not _deaf_ , Rylen.  I heard her.”

“Aye, you heard her all right!  You just answered a woman’s thinly veiled question about if you’d slept with another by saying _‘no more than usual’_!”

Cullen stared at Rylen blankly as that sunk in.  Swearing colorfully, he jumped to his feet and quickly followed after Moira.  Maker, why did women have to speak in riddles?  He stepped out into the evening air and scanned for her.  He spotted Moira almost to the healer’s hut.  He ignored Pup’s insistent growl and jumped off the three steps down from the tavern and ran to catch up with the brunette mage.  “Moira!  Wait!”

Moira paused and turned as he caught up to her.  She looked at him expectantly as he stopped before her.

“I…Maker’s breath…I didn’t know what you were _really_ asking.  I—no.  I’ve not…not with…” His words came flying out in a jumble, praying she caught on to what he was saying.  “I mean, she’s a lovely lady, but I’m not…she’s not really, I don’t…ah, Maker save me…”

Moira snorted and began to laugh, trying to cover her mouth to stifle it.  It was to no avail.  “Y-you…your face!  You look like a chantry boy caught with his hands in his pants!”

Cullen glared at her, crossing his arms over his chest.  “Well _that’s_ quite the analogy!”

“S-sorry!” Moira barely gained control over herself, wiping at her face.  “Maker, Cullen…you don’t have to explain anything to me.  What you do with your… _ahem_ …is really none of my business.”

She shifted and couldn’t seem to look at them then, after stating that fact.  He couldn’t describe the feeling he was suffering at that moment.  He just knew he had to somehow convey that he’d never been with a certain Orlesian woman.  “Mounice and her brother arrived around three months prior.  I’m apparently a prime target for her… _enthusiastic_ displays.  I’m hardly entranced, I assure you.  She’s…a bit too…hm…”

“Forward?”

“Yes…”

“Cullen, really.  I should apologize.  I shouldn’t have made you feel you needed to explain to me.  It _really_ isn’t my business either way.”

“I suppose it’s not but…” He reached up to rub at his neck, “I do hold your opinion of me in high regards, despite myself.”

“Despite yourself, huh?”

He hung his head in defeat, “you see?  _This_ is why I am no good with women.”

“I can tell.  You’re absolutely horrendous at speaking to the fairer sex.”

“Why thank you!  That _really_ helps!” Cullen scoffed, glaring at her with humor.

“I aim to please!” Moira gave a ridiculous display of a sweeping bow. 

Cullen rolled his eyes, “I think your nightmarish curtsy may have been far more pleasant to witness than that bow.”

Moira swiped at him, he dodged with a laugh.  “Arse.”

“Where are you heading, anyway?” Cullen asked her to which she turned and pointed to the healer’s hut.

“To bed?”

“…did no one show you to a guest cabin?”

“No…?”

Cullen bit back the irritation that rose within him.  “Follow me.  We have a few extra cabins that serve as guest quarters.  Especially when we have visitors of esteem.”

Moira fell into step with him at his right elbow.  He noted that she stood an entire head shorter than he and was probably somewhere about two-thirds his size around.  Petite was a word that could easily describe her.  His eyes were drawn to the swell of her chest and dip of her waist.  Ashamed of his less than gentlemanly glance, he looked away.  They came to a small cabin.  He stepped up onto the front porch walkway and opened the door. 

“Here you are.  It locks from the inside and the key should be in the desk under the window.  While you’re here, please feel free to make this home.”

“It’s not that much smaller than papa’s home…” She mused, probably unintentionally, aloud.  He watched her trail her fingers over the desk and wall around to the bed.  His mind turned instantly to _very_ inappropriate visions that had to do with that bed and the woman standing beside it. 

He cleared his throat, forcing his thoughts away.  “If you need anything, feel free to ask anyone around.  We’re all in this together, so we all work well together.”

“What _is_ this place, anyways?  That Orlesian woman mentioned something about recovery earlier.”

Cullen couldn’t hide the smirk at the way she sneered the word, _Orlesian_.  “Lyrium withdrawal recovery.  Any templar who desires to leave the Order or just simply cease the use of lyrium usually finds their way here.  This place is fully sanctioned by Divine Victoria herself.  She believes in this cause as much as I do.”

Moira turned to look at him, an odd look on her face.  “And you…?”

“What of me?”

“Did you…?” She didn’t finish the question but he understood well enough.

“Yes.  In fact, from all any of us can gather…I may have been the first templar to successfully recovery from lyrium.  Although, it is not an easy course, nor…a very smooth one.”

“I can’t imagine it would be.”

“I…never asked.  But, Greagoir…is he…?”

“Dwindling...” Moira sighed, turning to sit on the foot of the bed.  Her hands tucked delicately between her knees.  Cullen had a feeling she’d throw something pointy at him if he ever voiced aloud the world delicate in reference to anything about her.  He leaned in the open doorframe; a sympathetic look on his face. 

“I’m sorry, Moira…”

“For what?” She looked up, shrugging in defeat.  “It isn’t as though I never suspected he’d go through it.  It’s just an eventuality for those who never had the option to break away.  He thinks I don’t notice.  And I can’t…I can’t bring myself to tell him either.  He’ll come over to me when he thinks I’m asleep just to check if he even remembers me.  Each time he does, he sounds so _relieved_ that he’s not completely gone yet.  I fear for when he—”

Cullen crossed the cabin as he voice broke.  He sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her.  She turned her face into his side.  She didn’t cry like most women.  She barely made a sound and what little tears he saw, were hidden well.  She inhaled sharply and sat back with her back ramrod straight.  She waved her hand, dismissing the emotional visual she’d just given.

“Enough of that.  I’m glad to know what you’re doing in this place, Cullen.  It’s…good.  This world rarely shows much _good_ any longer…”

“Someday, I’ll ask you to tell me about why you think that way.” Cullen nudged her with his shoulder, “but for now, I’ll leave you to get your rest.  Healer Naren will have my guts for garters if I don’t let you rest up.”

“She would too, wouldn’t she?” Moira laughed, sniffling slightly.

Cullen grimaced as he stood, “yes.  Yes, she most definitely _would_.”

“Goodnight, Cullen.”

Cullen looked down into her open face.  His heart skipped a beat.  She was so lovely when she was completely unmasked to him.  He smiled at her, finding a strange stirring in his chest as he did so and she responded with one of her own.

“Goodnight, Moira.” He left her cabin and closed the door behind himself.  He leaned back on the door for a moment to gather himself.  His feet led him down and away from her hut and to his own. 

The sun had fallen below the horizon at least two hours ago.  The torchlit lamps throughout the small village he, Rylen, Barris, and a handful of templars had built with their own bare hands.  Each desiring of being free from lyrium and its clutches.  Not all the templars here were completely severed from the Chantry.  In fact, there were a few that were still actively involved with the Order and intended to return once their recovery ended.  Approved by the Divine herself to be the first group of lyrium-free templars to actively attend their duties without the restrictive drug.  If there was a way around lyrium completely, Leliana was as determined to find it as Cullen was to support it.  He, himself, still believed in the Order.  In its ability to _still_ do good.  It just…needed work.  A _lot_ of work.  He was just very pleased to see that Divine Victoria felt the same. 

Pup lifted his head from his front paws as Cullen stepped up onto his cabin’s porch.  Cullen stooped enough to scratch the large mammal’s ears.  “Come on, you.”

Pup rose and followed him into his cabin.  Cullen latched the door and moved to light a few lamps as well as a fire.  He had a few letters and missives to go over still.  After a fire was going and a glass of finely aged whiskey sat on his low tea table, he settled upon his couch and began to read over the letters and missives.  The first three were just simple reports from those soldiers who still hunted the remaining red templars and Venatori throughout Thedas.  They still reported to him as though he were still their commander.  It was flattering, but unnecessary.  However, it seemed no matter how many times he informed these men and women of just that…they still ignored that and kept him apprised of their progress. 

The fourth letter had him snorting as he opened it.  He recognized the filigree upon sight without having to look at the family crest.

_Dearest Commander Cullen Rutherford, Former Inquisition Commander, And Man Who **Never** Allows Another to Win Chess,_

_You’ll be ecstatic to know that yours truly is coming to your quaint little abode in the garish Southern Thedas personally.  I even have an entourage that will be escorting me.  I have it upon good authority that you should have ample lodgings, yes?  Of course you will!_

_In the meantime, I’ll have sent ahead a cask or two of **my** own wine.  Do please keep it safe for me, won’t you?_

_Sincerely, The Devastatingly Handsome Magister Pavus_

Cullen couldn’t help it.  A low chuckle of amusement emitted from him.  Dorian.  One could always count on that blasted Tevinter mage to be completely over the top.  He’d need to speak with Adelaide about ensuring the magister had proper lodging as well as preparing the huts for the Chargers as well.  Wherever Dorian traveled outside Tevinter, the Chargers would generally be tasked with his protection.  Seeing as how Pavus and Bull were together, it wasn’t a surprise.  He set the letter aside and plucked the fifth from the pile up and paused on the wax seal.  He flicked it open and began to read.

_Cullen,_

_I do hope this finds you well.  As per our last letters, you know we were in Val Royeaux visiting the lovely, dangerous, and frightening Divine Victoria.  I may have inadvertently injured one of her precious nugs…  If there are any blood splatters on this page, you’ll know she read over my shoulder and decided to stick me with something pointy—_ a long scratch appeared beside the word before the script continued once more— _Apparently Josie isn’t pleased with me either.  She’s now cross with me because I refuse to rewrite this letter on a new parchment.  I suppose evidence of my poor abuses that I’m suffering are too much for her to face…_

_On a less humoring note, I have a few things I need to discuss with you in person.  I’ll be leaving three days after I send this to you.  I may have a lead on a certain slippery arse.  I need another ear and eye on it, however.  I can’t be certain until I get your insight._

_I’ll see you within a week’s time._

_Trevelyan_

Cullen sighed, running his hand over his face.  Well, wasn’t he just the popular member of the disbanded Inquisition?  He set Trevelyan letter aside and picked up the last.  He knew just from the type of parchment and the fact it had the wax seal of the Seekers of Truth who it was from.  He opened Cassandra’s letter.

_Commander,_

_I’ll be stopping through upon Inquisitor Trevelyan’s request._

_Seeker Pentaghast_

At least Cassandra was blunt and to the point.  He groaned and let himself lean back into his couch back.  Things were about to get lively about the village.  He didn’t have the time to entertain all of this _and_ tend to his duties around the recovery camp either.  Was this a test of his abilities from the Maker?  Or was this just another punishment?  Pup grunted and moved to his other flank on the floor as he slept on.  Cullen took that as his cue to at least try to get some rest too.  After all, Moira’s supply wagon wasn’t going to fix itself tomorrow. 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have soooo much more written. Just dealing with my muse right now. She's got four different fandoms she's smashing my brain with. Between Displaced, this, and a third story my muse is punching out...I've been busy. But this is still happening. I won't dare post the other until Displaced is COMPLETED. Then and only then will I post the newest fiction for another favorite fandom of mine. In any case, there is more to come, lovelies!!


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten  
** **Heat of the Moment**

Upon waking, Moira found her way to the healer’s hut.  She knocked twice before stepping inside.  She noted that Naren wasn’t present.  Knowing what she did now about her locale, she decided to step right in and start mixing more healing potions, pain relieving tonics, muscle relaxing tonics, and headache potions.  No doubt they would come in very handy.  She set the mortar and pestle up, gathered various herbs from the jars and boxes they were labeled in.  She found a few of them would need replenishing and made a list beside her work station so that she would recall what they were.  A cough made her turn.

One of the two men who she’d accompanied down from her father’s home was laying on his back on the furthest back cot.  He was having a coughing fit.  Moira left the potion station and moved to his beside.  As she knelt, his name resurfaced in her brain.

“Let me help you sit up a bit, Ser Maksim.”

He nodded weakly as she helped lift him a bit.  He gasped in a deep breath and slowly regained control over himself.  Moira kept him sitting upright.  “Thank you, Miss Moira.”

“Don’t thank me yet.  You feel a bit feverish…” Moira murmured as she ran her hand over his forehead.

Maksim laughed a very small, tired laugh.  “That’s normal for withdrawal, isn’t it?”

“How long have you been off it?”

“…hm…six?  Six months?”

Moira swore softly, “no wonder.  Tell me what is hurting most.”

“Mm…my back is stiff and uncomfortable.  My left thigh feels very sore and painful.  My head, but that’s always.  And I just feel…like a walking bruise.”

Moira carefully reached for a few pillows off of nearby cots and piled them up for him to lean back on.  “Well, for starters, let’s get you elevated so your lungs have a better chance of not filling with any fluids.  How uncomfortable are you with magic, Maksim?”

“Magic?” Maksim frowned and then shrugged, only to wince visibly.  “Ow.  It’s not a _huge_ issue for me.”

“If I used magic to get a better idea as to what is ailing you most internally, would you permit that?  And rest assured, no answer will hurt my feelings.”

“You’d do that?”

“I would.  But only if you allow me.”

Maksim nodded to her, “please.  Go ahead then.”

Moira smiled and then held her hands over his chest and thigh, hovering above his flesh.  Her mana tingled through her fingertips before it flowed forth and warmed her hands as the magic moved into Maksim.  She closed her eyes to concentrate.  There was no telling how long she examined him with her magic, but she felt a bit drained as she pulled her mana back to herself.  She opened her eyes to see Maksim leaning back comfortably into the pillows, a look of drowsy content on his face. 

“Your left thigh bone is fractured but not broken through.  There is not _much_ I can do for that besides giving you some healing potions to help speed the healing process and to bind it so that it fills in the crack properly.  Your lungs, as I suspected, have gotten a bit logged with fluids.  You were ill before you ran the supply run, weren’t you?  There’s no way being bedridden for two or three days could do this much.  I _can_ clear the liquid away, but I can’t promise it will feel good.  In fact, it will probably be very uncomfortable.”

“Your magic felt so nice and cozy.  I don’t know if I believe it could hurt…”

Moira snorted, “yes.  Just like fire is so warm and cozy until you stick your hand into it.”

Maksim sighed, “I don’t mind.  In fact, I’d appreciate it if you did clear my lungs.  They’ve been bothering me for a week before the supply run.  I just…didn’t want Naren to scold me something proper.”

“Oh, you’re still going to be scolded, Maksim.  I assure you of that.  Naren should have been alerted immediately once you felt ill.  You are going through withdrawal of a very vicious substance.  To neglect your health during such an arduous ordeal is not just dangerous, it is downright idiotic.”

Maksim looked away, frowning.  “Yes, I know but—”

“But nothing boy,” Naren’s voice came closer.  “Good eye, Moira.  I’ll get the binding fabrics ready as well as the healing potions.  You go on and clear the fool’s lungs.” 

Moira could tell Naren was thoroughly enjoying the ashen cast to Maksim’s face as he realized the older healer had come in and overheard them.  Biting her lip to keep from grinning, Moira set to work.  At first Maksim seemed all right with her mana as it began to burn away some of the fluids in his lungs.  Then as she moved a little more magic in, he began to breath a bit faster.  An uncomfortably draw to his face alerted her to the fact that her warning was well warranted.  She found a very stubborn area that didn’t want to be removed easily. 

“Maksim, I need to use more.  It may hurt.”

Maksim nodded and gripped the edges of his cot.  Naren settled by his thigh and waited.  Moira took a deep breath and poured forth more mana.  Just as Maksim’s jaw clenched and he ground out a pained grunt, she saw Naren moved the binding strips into place.  The older woman was using his distraction with his lungs to bind his leg.  Moira truly found herself respected the woman.  She managed to get the last bit removed before her mana faltered.  She withdrew her magic quickly so as not to hurt him.  She smiled and patted his arm, moving to her feet.  She got all of five steps before her knees crumpled beneath her.  About the only thing she registered before she fell over and the world darkened, was a sharp call of her name.

…..

The smell of herbs accompanied the feeling of a cool cloth being settled over her forehead.  Moira opened her eyes slowly.  Naren sat over with a stern frown on her face.  A sheepish look was all Moira could muster up for the older woman. 

“I’m a bit rusty?”

Naren tutted, “rusty?  You nearly drained yourself, girl.  Too much too fast.”

“I’m sorry.  You already had enough to deal with.  How is he?”

“Besides worried over you, Miss Moira?” Maksim answered her, “I feel much better.”

Moira moved to sit up, “well, that’s good, isn’t it?”

Naren scoffed and stood to return the cloth and water basin.  “Good, she says.”

“How long was I out for?”

“A few hours,” Naren answered as she returned with a bottle in her hand.

Moira eyed it, “what is it?”

“A little pick me up, girl.  Just herbs with a nice kick.”

Moira nodded and took it, sipping it.  It was bitter.  She downed the rest of it.  “Well, I should get myself up and get some more potions mixed up.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Naren blocked her as Moira stood and began for the potion table.  “You aren’t going to do any mixing now.  B’sides.  I got enough mixed up yesterday.  I would like you to take this requisition request to the Commander though.”

Moira took the list, noting that it was partially made up of her own list she’d been making earlier.  “I can just go find these myself.  No need to send someone else.”

“There’s plenty of gatherers, girl.  Everyone has a skill; everyone has a job.  Yours is here, healing.  Not running ‘round the wilderness picking herbs.  The Commander’ll be over at the forge working on your wagon no doubt.  It’s behind the armory.  Last building on the right if you head left from here.”

Moira knew she had no way of winning an argument with this woman right now.  Instead, she inclined her head respectfully and moved to fulfill her task.  The afternoon air was refreshing.  She felt like a green, unharrowed apprentice all over again.  Mana exhaustion?  She really had been neglecting her magic greatly in the last several years.  Not that she regretted that.  Not even a little.  But…she glanced back at the healer’s hut.  Maybe she could practice a bit more until she left…  Maybe she could really help out here…

She heard a hammer smacking metal just up on the right.  Her boots carried her to a large cabin.  Stepping around the corner and heading to the back, she rounded the back corner.  Looking up from the list, she opened her mouth only to have it slacken open.  The heat of the forge had _nothing_ to do with the sudden dry, cotton mouth she was slammed with.  Her pulse quickened, her brow sweat…and there Cullen stood.  A pair of well fitted leather breeches, boots, two leather wrist bracers, and the Maker given body of a woman’s personal wet-dream.  He was shirtless with a sweat-slicked sheen from the heat the forge.  In his hand was a hammer and in the other was what she could only assume was a metal piece from her supply wagon.  At that point in time, Moira didn’t care what it was.  She simply thanked Andraste for its need to be worked upon by the man before her.  She managed to close her gaping maw.  Then the man turned. 

 _Maker save her…_   She was going to die of unyielding arousal.  She would be the first in history. 

Cullen examined the metal work, lifting it.  Moira whimpered as she watched his biceps flex and his abdominal muscles move with his breathing.  He looked up then and at her.  She gulped, trying desperately to stamp down the overwhelming desire to walk up to him and jump his bones.  Cullen set the metal piece and hammer down.

“Moira, what brings you over here?” He asked with a friendly, open smile.

Oh fuck.  Moira cleared her throat three times before attempting to speak.  “I, er, list.  Um, from Naren.  Yeah…”

 _Well done, Moira._ She mentally kicked her own ass repeatedly.  He frowned and walked over to her.  He lifted his hand to touch her brow, she could have melted in her boots.  He _smelled_ good, even sweaty.  Maker, she really was a dead woman.  She had to be.  No way this could be real. 

“Are you all right?  You feel feverish.”

A nervous giggle burst out of her, “what, me?  No!  No…it’s, uh, it’s the heat!  The forge.  Heat…”

Cullen rose a brow at that, “oh…I suppose I’ve gotten a bit acclimated to it by now.  Was there something you needed?”

The first word that flew to her mind was, _you_.  “Yes!  Naren sent this to you.  A request for more.  Here,” she held it out to him.  As soon as he had it in hand, she released it like it burnt her and pointed awkwardly over her shoulder.  “I need to get back.  _Now_.  Thank you in advance!”

She didn’t stick out to notice if he found her retreat odd or not.  As soon as she was out of his eyesight, she bolted down the street.  She bypassed the healer’s hut and to the little visitor’s cabin she’d been allotted the night before.  Once inside, she fell back against the door, fanning herself.  It wasn’t enough, she could feel how sodden her small clothes had become.  Closing her eyes proved to be no more help as she could vividly picture Cullen half-dressed and sweaty before her.  A low moan from the torture escaped her.  Her right hand betrayed her as it slid down, beginning to push into her trousers. 

A knock rattled the door, making Moira jump and muffle a curse.  She retracted her hand quickly and regained herself. 

“You all right in there, lass?”

Moira wasn’t sure whether she wanted to open the door and deck Rylen or quietly thank him for breaking her out of her lust-haze.  She cleared her throat and opened the door, “just fine.  Why?”

“You looked like a storm raging past,” Rylen hooked his right thumb over his shoulder.  “Thought I ought to check in on you.  Make sure you weren’t bothered.”

Oh, she was bothered all right.  Just not the way he might be thinking.  “I’m fine.  Just…needed to get away for a moment.  That’s all.”

“Ah,” Rylen nodded as though he understood, “well, in that case.  Supper’ll be served in a few hours.  Heard cook is making meat pie.”

“Sounds delicious.”

“Aye, always is.  See you there.” Rylen stepped off the short deck and moved off back whatever direction he’d come.  She closed the door and thumped her head against it. 

“I’m such a mess…”

Moira moved to sit at the desk and spied a quill, inkwell, and parchment.  She should write papa.  Smoothing out a piece of paper, she dipped the quill, tapped off the excess ink, and began to compose a letter.  She started simply enough; where she was, then what had happened on the way, and why she hadn’t returned just yet.  A small stirring in her chest made it hard to put her next words into script.  As she wrote, she realized how truthful they were.  She _wanted_ to stay.  To help.  Was it too much?  Was she being selfish?  Her papa…what if he slipped completely into madness while she was away?  She _was_ only a day’s journey away.  However, that was an eternity if something were to happen.  Guilt slammed her and she dropped her head into her hands, not caring about the ink marring her fingertips.  She found a place she didn’t want to flee from.  For the first time since she was a tiny little girl, she felt like she’d finally found a place she could maybe call home. 

 _Home_ …

What a strange yet terrifying notion.

She sat back and stared at what she had written.  She set the quill to paper for one last sentence.  _‘What do you think, Papa?’_  

She fanned the ink with her hand until it was dry enough to fold.  Tipping a melting candle sideways, she dripped melted wax upon the letter seam.  Rising, she collected it and left her hut to search for someone who could point her to the message runner.  A lovely lady templar she could just vaguely recall from the escort voyage was only a few paces ahead of her.

“Excuse me!” Moira called out.

The woman turned, her blonde ponytail swishing as she did so.  A studying glance before recognition bloomed upon the woman’s face, “ah.  Miss…Moira, wasn’t it?  What can I do for you, miss?”

“Just Moira please.  I was wondering if you knew where I could have this sent?” Moira waved the letter.

The woman nodded and gestured for Moira to follow, “right this way.  We never did get to meet in person, did we?  I am Adelaide Windsor.”

“No, I don’t suppose we did.  But, how did you know _my_ name?”

“Some people simply have no idea how to shut up about lovely young women who happen to catch the eye of certain people throughout the place.” Adelaide spoke with a teasing note and spark of humor in her hazel eyes as she looked sideways at Moira.

“Well now, I didn’t realize eyes were being tossed so easily about.  Had I known I was meant to _catch_ them; I would have been far more diligent.”

Adelaide threw her head back with a laugh, “Ry said you were one with words!”

“Ry?”

Adelaide blushed then, clearing her throat, “pardon.  Rylen.  Former Knight-Captain of Starkhaven.”

Moira smirked at the color on the woman’s cheeks.  She, however, kept quiet and stashed that bit of insight to herself.  “Ah, Ry.  Got it.  Is that his family name or his given name?”

Adelaide snickered, “you need to ask him that.”

“I’m sensing there’s a story there.”

“Oh, there _is_.”

“I’m definitely asking him now.”

“Here we are, just use the quill to write the location and person to receive then drop into the box here.  Our runners sift through at first light and head out from there.”

“How many runners are there?”

“Ten.  We have three out right now on longer letter runs.  But three should be heading only a full day out at most tomorrow morning.  The other three will only so half a day’s journey out to be back for the next day.”

“How are you all so efficient?  I’ve seen so many people here doing anything and everything that needs doing without a single hiccup.  Rotations, time schedules, everything.”

Adelaide smiled fondly, “because our _‘not Commander’_ is one of the best coordinators in Thedas.  That man could reorganize and turn around a _nation_ if he so chose to.  It’s no wonder the Inquisitor still seeks his advice and expertise even after all these years.”

“Cullen set all of this up, didn’t he?” Moira asked, feeling awestruck. 

“Yes.  With Rylen’s help, but almost entirely Cullen’s doing.  It’s why we all still call him Commander even though it seems to drive the man insane.  He tries to be _one of us_ , ensure us he is no higher in position than any of us.  However, not one soul here minds calling him our leader.  Our Commander.  He is the best man for this job.”

Moira felt warmed by the high praise for him.  She found herself feeling very proud of the man.  Picking up the quill, she wrote her father’s name and place of residence before dropping the letter in the box.  Turning, she half expected Adelaide to have left.  Instead, the blonde woman was smiling at her in a way that was unnerving.

“Yes?”

“You are smitten.”

“What?” Moira squawked, “with who?”

“I believe you know exactly who.”

“I…” Moira snapped her mouth shut.  Sighing, she looked away, “smitten?  No.  I don’t think so, at least.  I hardly know him.  Respect?  Greatly.”

“Mm.  Well, dinner should be soon.  Tonight is a special night too.  Ser Frederick from Denerim has finally pulled out his withdrawal.  A few of the men and women are playing tonight and last time that happened, there was dancing.  Not to mention free ale.”

“Free ale?  Count me in.  Oh, before I forget.  Where do I get myself a bath?  Or…clothes?”

Adelaide made a sound that reminded Moira of the way one of the Starkhaven natives at Ostwick had clucked.  The _‘och’_ sound preceded a march toward a decent sized building off to the left side of the encampment. 

“This is the bathhouse.  Dagna installed fire runes to the pipes, so when you pump water into the basin, be sure to let it sit for a few minutes unless you enjoy scalding your arse.  As for clothes, there’s a merchant just two doors down.  I’ll get you something to wear in the meantime.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.  I can manage until—”

“With dirty, blood stained clothes?”

“…I didn’t say it was an _ideal_ plan…”

“Just get yourself bathed.”

Moira sighed as Adelaide turned and left her.  She entered the bathhouse and found a nice privacy screened in tub.  She used the handle pump and filled it with steaming water.  Astounded by the use of such simple runes so effectively, Moira tested the water to find it was in fact very hot.  Once the water sat for a bit, she tested again and found it to be perfect for a good scrub down.  Stripping, she stepped into the pool of water and sighed as she sank into it.  Knowing she really shouldn’t just lay in the tub forever, she set to work scrubbing her skin clean.  She spied a bit of soap and plucked up each bar to sniff.  She found a nice, pleasing scented one that was akin to honey, cinnamon, and vanilla.  She hummed in pleasure as she was enveloped by the scent on her skin.  She could certainly get used to this.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you fanning yourself? I'm fanning myself. Half-dressed, muscle-y, sweaty Cullen...whoo! I should turn on my air conditioner now...


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven  
** **Just a Kiss Goodnight...**

By the time Moira approached the tavern in clean pair of tights, a long-belted tunic that rested off her shoulders, and a pair of simple slippers…the thrum of loud music and boisterous voices could be easily heard through the door.  Adelaide smiled at her encouragingly before shouldering the door open.  Both women stepped inside.  The tavern was far livelier than when Moira first arrived.  People were dancing, singing, laughing, and just joyfully celebrating.  The joviality of the entire atmosphere was intoxicating.  All the tables had been pushed to the walls on either side to make room for the festivities within.  Adelaide waded through the crowd and left a gap in her wake for Moira to slip into. 

“You made it!” Rylen cried over the din. 

Moira smiled and shrugged, “not like I could miss it!”

“Ha!  Here!  Have a drink!” Rylen foisted a tankard at her.  Moira caught it, nearly sloshing the ale upon her clean clothes.  She shot him a dirty look before she took a drink.  Her eyes scanned over the tavern. 

“You look nice.”

She shivered involuntarily as Cullen’s voice came from just over her right shoulder.  She turned her head to see him smiling as he stepped around her from behind.  His left hand just barely brushing her side.  He was dressed in a nice cotton shirt with the laces untied at the top.  His trousers were fitted and he just looked…mouthwatering.  She quickly turned her attention elsewhere as she knew where her mind was leading her. 

“Thank you.  You don’t look too bad yourself.”

Cullen’s answering laugh was almost drowned out as the group of instrumentalists began to play another song.  Moira looked at the musicians.  She recognized two of the men as the same ones who tended the stables.  The other three she’d seen about the village. 

“Templars who play instruments?  Will the wonders ever cease?”

Adelaide snickered, shrugging.  “Not all of us stick to stabbing pointy ended objects into various other objects.”

Rylen leaned back against the table, “quite a lot of these folk here have different talents that inside the Order are, well, a fat lot of useless in the face of abominations and demons.”

“And apostates,” Moira pointed out with a shrug.

“Er, well…yes.  That too.” Rylen cleared his throat, “Rutherford here’s apparently a decent blacksmith, carpenter, and a bloody damned fiend at chess.”

Cullen rolled his eyes as he took a swig of his own ale, “Rylen here is a great livestock keeper and an even better stores manager.  He can tell when something’s been taken from the storage with only a look.”

“Aye, and it’s kept the lot of us well fed and happy now, hasn’t it?”

“No one was saying it was a _bad_ thing, Ry.” Adelaide shook her head, “I find myself fairly decent with a needle and thread.”

“…did you…?” Moira pulled at the tunic dress for emphasis.

“I did.  And I think that shade of emerald is beyond fetching on you.  Wouldn’t you say, Commander?”

Cullen coughed, flicking a glance at Moira and then away.  “Y-yes.  It certainly does look nice.”

Was he blushing?  No.  Probably the ale.  And the lighting.  Definitely that.  Moira looked into her ale as though she could find an answer to a random riddle there.  “I suppose everyone has talents they keep to themselves mostly.”

“ _Most_ everyone,” Rylen grumbled as he spotted a certain woman traipsing through the crowd over to them.  “ _Some_ are just bloody daft…”

“Commander,” Mounice called out as she swayed her hips far more than necessary.  “I hope you have saved a dance for me?”

Cullen shifted, a bit of discomfort on his face.  “I, ah—”

“He’s not even gotten properly settled yet, Mounice.  Give the poor man a break.” Adelaide spoke in a tone that allowed no room for argument. 

The Orlesian woman glared at the female templar.  “I suppose I will circle around to congratulate our fully recovered friends.  If you’ll excuse me?”

“You’re excused,” Adelaide waved her hand.  Mounice huffed and spun away, storming away. 

“You have a unique way with people, eh, Addy?” Rylen chuckled, winking at the other templar.

Adelaide smiled back, “no.  I just don’t tolerate fools, Ry.”

“Och, that almost sounded personal.”

Adelaide held her cup up, Rylen tapped his against hers.  “Only if it needs to be.”

Moira smirked as she clanked her own cup against the other woman’s when offered.  With a glance over her drink at Cullen, she felt her cheeks heat a bit.  Her memory betrayed her by flitting the image of his rather becoming bare chest, glistening in sweat, across her mind.  She nearly choked on her ale and coughed as she lowered the cup to hit her chest.  Cullen looked at her, reaching over in concern.

“Are you all right, Moira?”

“F-fine!” She managed to strangle out.  “Wrong pipe!”

“Aye, that gets even the best of us, lass.” Rylen added sagely but she _knew_ she saw a twinkle in the other man’s eye.  The kind that told her he wasn’t fooled.  A rather abrupt urge to slug that damned knowing smirk off his face rose swiftly. 

“Here…”

Moira turned at Cullen’s voice, now much closer than before.  He held out a chair for her.  She blinked at the chivalrous action.  Moving to sit, accidently brushed her hip against his left knuckles.  Not thinking much of it, she raised her face to thank him to find he was studiously looking away from her.  A pang of disappointment dropped in her gut.  She thanked him and pulled the chair in so he could move back to his own seat.  She spent the next several minutes, ignoring the din around her, sipping at her ale.  The musician templars—Maker, would she ever get used to such a saying?—played on with various tunes made for lively crowds.  She was certain at least three songs were played while she sat, attempting to pretend she didn’t feel so let down.  Of course he wouldn’t have felt for her like she did for him.  He was still a templar.  A _highly_ decorated templar at that.  She was just a silly apostate. 

“Addy!  Dance with me!” Rylen boldly declared, standing so quickly he knocked his chair backward with a clatter.  Cullen tried to grab the chair before it fell completely over. 

Adelaide _giggled_ like a young girl and stood, taking Rylen’s hand.  “Thought you’d _never_ ask, Ry!”

Moira watched the two wade out into the dancing clamor.  A forlorn sigh escaped her.  The few memories she could recall of her papa and mama were always such romantic ones.  Her papa holding mama close, dancing with her in a field of wildflowers while she clapped and giggled.  A stolen kiss that they thought she didn’t notice while pretending to be asleep in her papa’s arms.  She yearned for such a love.  A passionate, fiery, yet tender romance.  Propping her chin in her hand, she took another sip of ale.  Who was she kidding?  Who would want her? 

“What has you so glum?”

Moira remembered herself as Cullen inquired of her attitude.  She sat back, plastering on a smile.  “Nothing of noteworthiness, I’m afraid.”

“I get the distinct impression that you don’t sigh like that over nothing noteworthy.”

Oh fuck.  She did sigh, didn’t she?  “Silly thoughts, that’s all.  Why aren’t you dancing, Cullen?  You seem to have an admirer who’d love to take up your time?”  _Shit.  Did that sound as bitter as it tasted?_  

“I, uh, am not much of a dancer.”

Moira rose a brow at that, “I heard quite the opposite in rumors about the Inquisition’s foray into the Winter Palace years ago.”

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen growled, “those blasted noblewomen and their blathering fool mouths.  Yes, I had to dance a few times.  No, I did _not_ dance very well.  No, _I most certainly did not enjoy it.  At all._ ”

Moira cleared her throat, “I’m almost sorry I asked.”

“What?  Oh!  I didn’t mean—ah…I’m so horrible at talking to beautiful women,” he grumbled as he cupped his drink and glared into it.

Moira felt a fluttering in her chest.  Surely he wasn’t calling _her_ beautiful?  No.  There were beautiful women all around.  _But he’s talking to **you** right now.  _She mentally shushed herself.  “Should I let you know when the beautiful women leave?  Though, I’m afraid you may have to wait a while.  They all seem to be busy dancing at the moment…”

Cullen looked up at her, his brow furrowed in confusion.  “Why would I care about—ah.  No, Moira I was…um…talking about _you_ …”

“Me?”

“ _Yes_ ,” he stressed, his face turning pink.

“Oh,” Moira dumbly replied, facing her drink.  She stared into her dumbfounded, blushing reflection on the surface of her ale.

“Forgive me.  I shouldn’t have said that.  It was stupid of me.  You probably have much better taste in men…” Cullen stated, trying to use self-depreciating humor to deflect. 

Moira tried to speak, needing to swallow repeatedly.  She finally managed, “you’re more than my type…”

She could tell from her peripherals that he’d lifted his head to regard her.  She continued to stare into her cup.  The depths of the ale her closest form of security at that moment. 

“Would—would you care to dance?  With me?  I’m terrible at it, but I’d—I’d like to try.”

Moira bit back the stupid smile that she knew she’d be making if not for her teeth abusing her bottom lip so.  “Yes, I’d like that a lot.”

Cullen stood and offered her his hand.  She took it shyly, finding herself a bit taken aback by the strength in his hand as he helped her up.  Butterflies took flight in her stomach.  Maker, if just holding his hand and letting him lead her to the dancefloor was making her feel this lightheaded and giddy…what would happen when he held her in his arms to dance?  His hand on her waist? 

She looked up as they entered the dancefloor.  He slipped his left arm around her waist, pulling her in close to him.  She slid her left hand into his right, her right hand moving to rest on his left shoulder.  Oh, Maker take her poor soul now.  She was feeling weak-kneed.  The boyish, charming smile he gave her made her nearly buckle in place.  Then they moved.  The hopping side steps, the swing around, the dips and the spins…Moira found herself laughing.  A joyous bubble of excited glee was pouring forth from her lips.  She’d not felt so…free.  So light.  Cullen soft laughter made her heart sing in a way she’d never heard before.  They danced and danced.  Each song changed their steps a bit, but she found his arm around her waist was probably the most enticing thing she’d known in a long time.  The only time he let her away from the cage of his arms was to use her hand to spin her around and pull her back into his larger frame.  She returned willingly each time. 

At some point, she and Adelaide swapped partners for the sake of the dance.  They returned partners and Cullen gave her the warmest look.  Then the song stopped.  The musicians called out a brief intermission.  Moira realized how out of breath she was.  Cullen offered her his arm.  She took it and followed the handsome knight.  He walked past their table and to the door.  The cool, crisp, night air was incredibly refreshing on her sweat dappled brow. 

“That was far more fun than I’ve had…ever.” Moira laughed.

Cullen grinned back at her, “even with as many times as I stepped on your foot?”

“Did you?  I didn’t notice.”

“Thank you for pretending for my ego’s sake.”

Moira smiled and looked up at the moon, “it’s well past the mid-night hour…”

“Celebration nights usually go much longer into the witching hours,” Cullen mused, “after all…it is a momentous occasion none of us take lightly.  Breaking free of lyrium once and for all?  It is…like breathing for the first time in forever.”

“I’m glad you’re free of it…” Moira found herself stating.

“As am I,” he looked at her, tilting his head.  “You don’t take it, do you?”

“Not since my harrowing, no.  I…it didn’t agree with me.  We can just leave it at that.”

“I am very pleased to hear that you’re not at risk for the aftermath, at least.”

“Can we walk?” Moira asked, wanting to escape any prying ears.

Cullen nodded and led her away from the tavern.  They walked along in quiet for a bit before Moira spoke up again.

“I sent a letter to papa.”

“Oh, yeah?  When was that?”

“Today.”

“So you should hear back in two days at the very latest.”

“…I think…I want to stay here…”

Cullen drew them to a stop, turning to face her.  “Truly?”

“If you’ll have me—”

“Absolutely.”

Moira was a bit stunned by his very quick response, a tiny smirk flickering onto her face.  He blushed, looking down at their arms.

“I was going to say, if you’ll have me…I’d like to continue working with Naren in the infirmary.  I think you’re all doing very important work here.  I’ve never belonged anywhere.  Not really.  But here, I feel…I feel like I have a purpose.  A meaning.”

“I would love for you to stay…” Cullen said, reaching up to push a bit of her hair from her face.  “And I admit, for entirely selfish reasons.  I…I rather enjoy your company, Moira.  Ever since we met, I’ve felt a strange draw toward you that I cannot explain nor fight.  Nor do I find myself wanting to…”

“Funny you should say that, I’ve felt similarly…”

Cullen leaned toward her; her own feet lifting up onto her toes as they drew closer.  “Perhaps we should…call it a night?”

Moira nodded barely, “that…that would be wise, yes…”

Cullen made a soft hum of agreement before his lips brushed over hers.  Moira’s eyes fluttered shut and her heart thundered in her breast.  The chaste touch of lips was far more than she could have dreamed of.  A small gap formed between their mouths.

“Is this all right?”

“Maker, _yes_ , Cullen…” Moira sighed, moving to press her lips against his more firmly this time.

Cullen’s lips turned into a smile as he returned her kiss.  His arms slid around her, pulling her closer to him if possible.  She looped her arms around his shoulders, standing on the tips of her toes and still almost not being tall enough to properly reach him.  He bent a bit to better accommodate her.  The kiss was still fairly chaste.  She dared to part her lips, granting him permission with her actions.  A soft groan preceded his tongue sweeping forth.  Her tongue greeted his as the kiss deepened further.  Chastity was quickly being chased from their hungering forms. 

His right hand dug into her hair as her left curled against the nape of his neck.  They parted for air, breathing rather heavily in the surrounding night.

“I should…I should let you go to your cabin.”

Moira hummed, distracted by the buzz in her head, “mm…probably…”

“Andraste save me, I don’t want to.”

“Then don’t,” Moira whispered, meeting his gaze. 

Cullen searched her face.  He decided upon something then.  A determined look entering his eyes.  Moira didn’t ask, she didn’t need to.  He lifted her swiftly into his arms, carrying her bridal style as he turned and walked the small distance toward his own cabin.  Moira bit her bottom lip.  The door was shouldered open and Cullen stepped into the dimly lit cabin.  Pup raised his head from his bed, yawned and then resettled back onto the dog bed.  Cullen kicked the door shut behind himself and carried her to the first door on the left. 

* * *

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve  
** **If the Night Interrupts Us**

 

The bedroom door closed with a muted click.  Cullen stooped to set her feet upon the floor.  Moira’s feet settled upon the soft rug underfoot.  She tilted her head back as he stood up fully again.  Her hands rested upon his chest as he bent to kiss her once again.  It didn’t start chaste like their first one outside.  Moira didn’t find it within her to care.  A moan made its way free from her.  Cullen shuffled closer to her; she took a step back and bumped into the foot of his bed.  A gasp from her, a chuckle from him, and then she was being lifted by her hips.  He sat her upon the bed which was rather high from what she was accustomed to. 

Without a second thought, she moved her knees apart so that he could press his body between her legs.  Her hands fisted in his shirt fabric and tugged him forward.  He followed the motion, pulling her flush with his pelvis by the back of her knees.  She giggled breathily.  His hands slid up her thighs.  Never before had she despised trousers as she did in that moment.  The desperation to feel his flesh upon her own was beginning to sear into her patience.  Their kiss was growing more heated by the second.  Maker, was _this_ what she’d missed out on?  Was _this_ why the Maker defied logic and took a human bride? 

Cullen’s hands moved to the belt holding her tunic snug to her form.  He tugged three times before it fell open under his fingers.  Her tunic slid over her flesh.  It probably only took a moment, but it felt like a tantalizing eternity as the fabric brushed over her sensitized body.  He groaned low in his throat as he dropped the garment off the side of his bed to the floor.  The same skilled hands moved to cup her breasts still restrained in her breast band.  His teeth nipped her jaw and earlobe.  A sound she never knew she could make filled the bedroom.  He repeated the motion again while rolling his thumbs over her covered nipples.  She arched into his touch as she made that sound again.  Her own hands began to tug and pull at his shirt impatiently.  He pulled back with a knowing smirk and shed his shirt, tossing it aside.  She bit her bottom lip, hungrily taking in the majestic beauty that was Cullen Rutherford. 

Then he laughed.

“What?” She asked, a bit worried she’d done something stupid.

“ _That’s_ why you were flushed and stuttering earlier,” he spoke, shaking his head. 

“…you may have to connect the dots for me…”

“You were rather…aroused…earlier weren’t you, Moira?” Oh, Maker damn her, his voice just dropped in a huskier note as he leaned in toward her.  She leaned back onto her hands, gnawing her bottom lip and feeling her face flush.

“I…um…well…” Her brain was officially stalling and freezing up.  But what could she do?  Such a sexy, intimidating man was teasing her while invading her personal space.  And _Maker_ , did she want him to.

“I suppose that answers the question if you are attracted to me,” he _purred_. 

She swallowed thickly and nodded for lack of any better response.  His fingers took advantage of her distraction and plucked at her trouser laces.  Her brain finally kicked into gear with one word screamed mentally, _yes!!_ He hooked his thumbs into her trousers, giving her a heart-stopping smirk that made her certain she was an absolute wreck.  He began to slide her pants down slowly.  She licked her dry lips.

“Cullen!  You up?!”

Moira jumped and swore as the front door slammed open.  Cullen’s face darkened into an expression of utter _murder_.  He growled under his breath.  She really only made out a few snarled curses that made her raise her brows at the seething heat behind them.  He straightened from her. 

“I’m going to fucking kill him.”

Moira opened her mouth to ask when he moved swiftly to the door, he slipped out, closing it behind him.

“Ah!  I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“ _What in the bloody fucking void are you doing here, Trevelyan?!”_

“Whoa!  I wrote you, remember?”

It fell really silent out in the main part of the house.  A heavy sigh came.  “Yes…but it said you’d be leaving in a few days’ time!  I didn’t expect you until—”

“Wasn’t it _you_ who came up with plan that we always date letters as though we’re leaving in a few days’ time when we’re actually leaving _that_ day to throw off any would-be assassins or the wrong informants getting the information?  That _was_ _you_ wasn’t it?  Along with Leli?”

“Yes, I know it was me!  That doesn’t mean I expected you to listen for once!”

Moira shifted and gasped as the bed creaked under her weight.  She closed her eyes, feeling stupid as she heard both men go quiet.

“…there’s a woman in your room, isn’t there?” A lengthy pause, a groan of wood, and a triumphant laugh, “there _is!!_ ”

“Yes!  And no thanks to _you_ , I’m certain I have quite the mortified woman in there!” Cullen hissed.

“Oh…right.  Oops.  Sorry!” Trevelyan yelped after the sound of a punch landing sounded.  “You _hit_ me!”

“I did!”

“Y-you…you _hit me!!  I’m the fucking Inquisitor, jackass!!_ ”

“You _were_ the Inquisitor!  You can’t pull rank on me _now_ , Max!!”

“Wait ‘til I tell Josie!”

“I’m certain she’ll forgive me.  Now, can this wait or is it an urgent matter?”

“I’m _very_ sorry, but it has to do with…you know who.  He have reason to suspect he may be moving in the Northern region.  Also, Dorian and Bull are due any minute as well as Cass and Josie.”

Moira took that as her cue.  She slid from the bed and grabbed her tunic dress.  She pulled it over her head and found her belt, tying it on.  She didn’t hear much else of their discussion as she busied herself with getting ready to go back to her borrowed hut.  She looked up when Cullen stepped back into his bedroom, he gave her the most apologetic look she’d ever seen. 

“Moira, I’m—”

“It’s all right,” Moira lied softly, shrugging.  “It happens.”

“No.  No it doesn’t.”

“Cullen, I’m a big girl.  I can handle a bit of…um…abstinence.”

He stepped up to her, wrapping her in his arms.  “Will you still stay?”

Moira stared up at him, a bit shocked.  She glanced at the door, “you…you sure you want your friends to know who you were planning to sleep with?”

Cullen frowned down at her, “why would I hide that?”

“Well, I mean, I’m not exactly…I mean…I’m—” Moira sighed, hanging her head, “plus it sounds like whatever you need to talk about isn’t something you want commonly known to everyone.”

“It isn’t common knowledge, no…” Cullen lifted her chin, “there is _nothing_ about this I could possibly feel ashamed of.  Especially not you.”

“Why are you trusting me so much?”

“I don’t honestly know.  I just… _feel_ that I _can_ trust you.  You’ve given me so many chances to prove that I couldn’t or shouldn’t trust you and each opportunity you prove to me that you are trustworthy.  Perhaps it is blind faith.”

“I…actually understand what you mean.  I’ve felt that since I met you as well…”

“So, will you still stay?”

“Yes.”

Cullen grinned back at her, “I’m so happy you said that.”

“I can see that,” Moira chuckled, “your shirt is on the floor over there.  I spotted it when I was dressing.”

“Ah, yes.  I’ll be needing that, won’t I?” He sighed and slipped from her to grab his shirt.  He tugged it over his head once more.  He paused beside her to kiss her cheek.  “I promise I will make this up to you.”

“I’ll look forward to that.  Would it be all right if I made some tea?”

“I wouldn’t ask you to, but I wouldn’t turn down a cup either.”

Moira smirked, bumping his thigh with her hip.  “Oh shut up and say yes.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Cullen saluted her with an adorable, boyish smile.  They both stepped out of his bedroom.

Moira was met with Trevelyan, leaning on the back of the couch.  He was speaking with another, rather attractive man.  Both stopped to look at them as they stepped into the room.  Moira kicked herself mentally for not noticing when someone else had entered Cullen’s home.  Was she getting rusty?  No.  She was just _highly_ distracted.  She _felt_ the gaze of the other person in the room.  Glancing over she spotted a _huge_ qunari.  Her feet stopped, rooting her into place.

Cullen nearly stumbled into her; his hands fell to her hips to steady himself behind her.  He must have followed her line of vision.  “He’s on our side, I promise.  His name is the Iron Bull.”

The qunari studied them quickly, assessing their body language.  It was something only a spy or a very well-trained rogue would see and notice in the tiniest fraction of a second it occurred.  A friendly smile spread on the behemoth male’s face.  “You must be Moira.  Boss said you were pretty.”

“Yes, and so did Josie.” Trevelyan stated.

“You poor thing, how _do_ you get by being surrounded by these brutes?” The dark haired pretty-man spoke.  His Tevinter accent was of a higher class.  Nobility.  The smooth, velvety sound of the accent denoted his standing in a way nothing else could.  The slaves had sloppier, clippier accents; the midway class were a bit smoother but still choppier with their accents.  Only nobility and magisters held that buttery smooth edge to their words. 

“I get by just fine.  I prefer brutes.  Easier to tell when a knife is coming at your back.” The man raised his brows and looked past her to Cullen.

“Well now, not a very trusting creature, is she?”

“Despite his unfortunate birthplace, Dorian is actually quite tolerable.” Cullen spoke up, squeezing her hips just enough to try and reassure her.

“Yes, it’s true.  My country is such a lovely place, if not for all that blood magic and nasty slave business.” Dorian sighed dramatically.

Moira began to walk again, this time to the small kitchenette by the front window and to the left of the front door.  She grabbed the kettle and moved to the water pump to pull water to fill the kettle.  Once full, she set the kettle upon the stove top and searched for the flint and steel. 

“Yes, Tevinter _is_ lovely in places.  Unfortunately, the loveliest of the landscape just happens to be the largest bed of slavery in the world…” She spoke as she kept looking around.

“You’ve been to Tevinter, then?” Dorian asked, oddly surprised.

“I’ve been _everywhere_ ,” she stepped back, “where are you flint and steel, Cullen?”

“Should be right there on the sill…” The sound of his footsteps coming up behind her was oddly comforting.  He stopped beside her, “where did they get off to?  Damn, Rylen probably _borrowed_ them again.”

Moira stepped closer and summoned her mana.  She lit the wood stove and ignored the discomfort she felt at using magic openly before others. 

“Ah, so you’re a mage as well then?” Dorian asked, innocently of course.  But it still made her tense.

“ _Unfortunately_ ,” she muttered, “it’s not something I care to speak about.”

“When you say ‘everywhere’, what exactly does that mean?” Bull asked from where he sat in the armchair by the fireplace. 

Moira turned around and crossed her arms, shrugging.  “I mean everywhere.  All over Thedas.  Name it, I’ve probably been there.”

“Qunadar?”

“Very lively, very crowded, very…regulated.” Moira answered, “but their market stalls?  Some of the _best_ meats I’ve ever tasted.  I didn’t ask what they were either.”

Bull laughed, “that was definitely for the best.”

Dorian pulled out a chair from the table and sat, tucking his left leg over his right.  “Asariel?”

Moira leaned her arms on the back of one of the chairs, a sad smile on her face.  “The port was lovely, at least until the sun went down.  The crying orphans certainly brought a dismal note to the evening…”

Cullen sighed, moving to sit at the table as well, “I remember that sound well.  Haunting…”

“From Kirkwall?” Trevelyan asked Cullen.

Cullen nodded, “after Anders blew the Chantry, yes.  The nights were filled with the woeful cries and screams of newly made orphans and mothers who’d lost their children…”

“That place was a complete shithole,” Moira agreed, “I bypassed it for a multitude of reasons.”

“Wise decision,” Cullen shook his head.

“How about Ostwick?” Trevelyan asked, rubbing his left elbow where the rest of his forearm was missing. 

Moira felt ice spread from behind her bellybutton outward like spiderlike tendrils throughout her body.  She looked down at the table, trying to calm the sudden clawing feeling that tried to drag her under.  Taking a deep breath, she cleared her throat a few times.

“Yes.”

“…wait,” the strange edge to Trevelyan’s tone made her look up.  His eyes were wide as he looked at her as though really seeing her for the first time.  “I know you.”

“Of course you do,” Cullen looked at Trevelyan, “she was part of the transport crew for the Queen of Ferelden…”

“No, I _know_ you.  From Ostwick Circle.”

Moira’s heart stopped.  She stood abruptly.  She recognized him then.  If she imagined him a few years younger with both arms and with a bit shaggier hair and a stupid goatee.  A sick feeling began to roil in her stomach.  He _knew_ her.  Which meant, he knew about _that_.  The look in his eyes said he _did_ remember.  He cleared his throat and smiled.

“Well, here’s to being free from that particular ring of the void.”

Moira felt like she’d been saved by the whistling of the kettle.  She spun and moved to grab the kettle.  Cullen jumped up with a sharp cry of warning as she grabbed the hot handle with a bare hand.  She ignored him as she coated her hand with a thick layer of ice before grabbing the handle to move the kettle from the heat. 

“You—ice?” Cullen stared at the hand before laughing humorlessly.  “Of course you’re fine…”

Moira smiled at his concerned little frown, “your chivalry is still appreciated and you still get the credit for it.”

“Oh, _thank you_.  That’s _all_ I was thinking about.  My credit.” Cullen replied drily.

“Of course it was!” Moira chirped brightly.

Cullen shot her a narrow-eyed look.  She returned his expression with an overly sugary smile.  The door opened then.  Two women stepped inside, covered in cloaks. 

“I assume all of the drunken revelry is because another fully recovered?” The taller woman spoke, her Nevarran accent clipped and annoyed.

“Yes, why?  Did some of the men wolf-whistle at you?”

A glare was his reply as she hung up her cloak.  The Nevarran woman was lovely if not fucking intimidating as the void.  Her dark eyes landed on Moira. 

“Who is this?”

Cullen opened his mouth to answer but was cut off by three male voices answering, “his lover”, “his lovely companion”, “the one who helped saved Queen Elissa.”

Cullen turned to glare at each of the three other men in the room.  Moira snickered.

Josie answered instead, “this is Moira, Cassandra.  She is a friend who helped us with our mission to get Queen Elissa home to Denerim from Antiva.”

“Oh, this is the woman you have spoken of.  Why is she _here_ though?” Cassandra asked, looking at Moira.

Moira cleared her throat, “I helped two of the men here get back from a supply run.  I saw the work being done here and decided to lend my help with healing.”

Cassandra looked to be weighing Moira’s words.  She looked away from Moira to Cullen then, “can she be trusted?”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \--cough, cough-- So...they ALMOST got to...well...y'know. It'll get there! I promise! (Please don't stab me-you know who you are...) THIS fiction is like...ALMOST done too! Been on a HUGE roll. I'll be able to focus on the new piece I've been dying to share with y'all! I have two, but one stagnant at the moment so it may never get posted. But it's not about Cullen, so... I have my priorities, after all. Much love! Going to go jump in a pool with my kiddos and smexy hubby today! Stay cool, stay safe, and see you soon!!


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen  
** **Turmoil Rising**

“Can she be trusted?”

To say he felt a bit insulted would be an understatement.  Cullen rose from his table.  His ire was beginning to rise.  Cassandra was a close friend.  But this was _his_ home.  He wasn’t a blind fool.  They _all_ knew him.  They _all_ knew how cautious and paranoid he could be over such things.  To question him if he _trusted_ a person he’d let into his _home_?  Clenching his fist, he was ready to inform his guests of his stance when Pup shouldered his way in front of Moira.  The canine leaned on her legs and let out a lone, low growl of warning.  Cass looked to the mabari with mild shock upon her face.

“Yes, Cass.  She is trustworthy.”

Cullen turned at the sound of Maxwell defending Moira.  Whatever happened in the past, Max knew Moira from the days she was in the Circle.  It wasn’t something he would outright ask.  Not yet.  He had to trust that she’d tell him eventually.  It wasn’t as though he could hold it against her.  If she were to demand he told her every key detail of his time in Kinloch or even Kirkwall?  He’d definitely be very displeased and put-off by such an action.  Her past was her business to share with whom she desired; _when_ she desired.  It still didn’t stop the little niggle of jealousy that rose within him at the thought of her sharing any history with another man.  No matter how silly that notion was.

“I will believe that,” Cass conceded, “forgive me, my lady.  It is for the safety of those gathered here that I behave as I do.”

“Nothing to forgive,” Moira spoke, “and I’m not a lady.  I have no title, so just call me by my name.”

“If that is what you wish,” Cass sighed, rubbing her side.  “Please tell me there is food or at least something hot to drink?”

“I’m making tea,” Moira stated, busying herself around his kitchen.  “Cullen, do you have food stores in here or should I run to the tavern and ask Ellie?”

“I should have some bread in the box there to the left, in the larder there should be some butter, and in the cooling bin there I believe I still have some meat and cheese.  But I’ll have to cook the meat.”

Moira waved him off, “I’ll do it.”

Cullen watched her for a moment longer than necessary.  He didn’t even care that the others saw his very obvious appraising look over the woman in his kitchen.  Maker, he could get used to seeing her bustling around his home like she lived there.  _She could live here, you know._   He bit back the thought in order to focus on his duties first.  But it was harder than ever before.  He turned and walked across the house to the back where his bookcase and shelves resided.  He pulled out an armful of scrolls and a huge map, turning to walk back to the table. 

“Dorian, can you grab the map weights on the corner bookshelf?”

“Oh I see how it is.  Make the beautiful ones do all the work.” Dorian huffed but did as asked of him.

Cullen rolled his eyes at Dorian. 

“Did you just insinuate my wife isn’t beautiful, Dor?” Max squawked.

Josie shook her head, “oh stop, you.”

“Of course not,” Dorian strut back to the table, “she just hasn’t been given a task _yet_.  This is just how he treats the gorgeous people he believes he _can_ boss around.  Moira, dear, consider this ample warning.  This man is a fiend who _loves_ to be domineering.”

Cullen spluttered, “I do not!”

“No?” Dorian set the weights down, giving Cullen a challenging look.  “Who’s lovely lady friend is cooking for a horde of his friends?”

“I didn’t ask her to!”

“You didn’t _stop_ her either, nor did you hide that rather heated once-over you gave her either.”

Cullen wanted to lunge over the table at Dorian to strangle the infuriating magister. 

Moira giggled as she placed some meat into a heated skillet, “who says I don’t _like_ domineering men?”

“Oh my…” Dorian drawled, “now _that’s_ a bit on the naughty side, don’t you think?”

“Dorian!” Cullen blurted out exasperatedly. 

“Again, you’re assuming an awful lot about my preferences…” Moira stated as the sizzling of meat filled the air.

Cullen buried his face in his hands, “Maker save me…”

Josie pat his back, “there, there, Commander.”

Max moved to help set up the map.  He sniffed the air, “is that…bacon?”

“It is.” Moira answered.

“Oh yeah…I can definitely appreciate this about the South…” Bull inhaled deeply and loudly, “bacon…”

“Were there any eggs in there as well, Moira?” Cullen asked as he set up a weight. 

“I believe so.  Would you like me to cook some eggs too?”

“I can do it; you don’t need to trouble yourself.” Cullen said as he unfurled a scroll to hand to Max.

“Really?  I’m _right here_.  It’ll be quicker and easier if I just do it.” Moira quipped back, a bit annoyedly.

Cullen had to bit the inside of his cheek from smirking at her attitude.  “All right, all right.  But just let me know if you change your mind.”

“Nope, not happening.  Tea is ready, by the way.”

Cass crossed to where Cullen kept his mugs and dug a few out, setting them on the counter and taking one for herself.  She poured herself some of the tea and plopped a few sugar cubes into it before fleeing to a comfy spot on the couch.  Max hummed as he read over the scroll.

“You said you had a couple of men come in from the Anderfels a few months ago.  How are they doing with their withdrawals?” Max asked, looking over the scroll at Cullen.

“They are doing well.  Better than to be expected really.  But I don’t think they would be of much assistance.  They only really ever saw their small village and then the Circle where they were assigned.”

“Damnit,” Max sighed, tossing the scroll down.  “Bull?  Did you ever get far into the Anderfels with the Chargers?”

“Sorry boss.  Mostly only Southern Thedas does contracts with Qunari.  Lot of superstitious folk in the Northern parts and the Vints just hate us on principle.  Let alone elves and dwarves.”

“That’s because they believe Andraste, as a human, would not have been likely to work with the Qun or their people in any capacity.  Heathens as they are to the pious ones of the North.” Moira tossed in while cracking eggs into the skillet.

Max looked up, staring at her back.  “You said you’ve been all over Thedas…”

“Mmhm.  That does include the Anderfels.”

Max turned to Cullen with a slow smile, “would there be anywhere in the Anderfels a huge conglomerate of elves could gather, mostly unseen, Moira?”

Cullen could see where Max was leading.  Moira made a sound of thought before she slid the eggs from the pan.

“There is one place that’s secluded,” She turned to regard them.  Walking over, she wiped her hands on her tunic and leaned over the map.  She hovered her right index finger above the map so as not to sully it and drew a line up to a place northeast of Laysh.  She paused over a part of the Wandering Hills.  “Here, there’s an old abandoned Elven ruin.  It’s not very large in and of itself.  So it couldn’t hold very many within.   _But_ , when I last saw it…there were three Eluvians within.”

“Three?” Max looked down at where she was pointing, “that’s disconcerting.”

“They were all broken, so I don’t see why that would be a big concern.”

“Unless someone fixes them,” Dorian sighed.

“That takes a grand amount of magic, and most often, _blood_ magic.  As I said, the Anderfel people are generally very paranoid and picky about outsiders.  They especially are wary of magic and mages.”

“A former companion of ours is far beyond the normal boundaries of mages,” Max spoke, his voice sounding years older than he really was and exhausted beyond reason. 

“Then it could potentially be a gateway?  A pit-stop?” Cass inquired as she took a sip of her tea. 

“Should I even ask what exactly you’re trying to find?” Moira looked between Max and Cullen.

Cullen looked to Max first.  Max nodded his head to Cullen.  Taking a breath, Cullen turned to Moira again.  “Solas.  He was our companion.  He helped us defeat Corypheus then disappeared after that without a word.  It turns out…the orb that Corypheus used to open the breach was the very same orb Solas…gave to him.  It marked Max’s left hand.  Solas’ magic was the reason for the breach and for Max’s ability to close it and the rifts.  Then, during the Exalted Council, we learned of a plan to attack Thedas by a radical group of the Qun.  Or so they claimed.  In that time, we learned that Solas…is…Fen’Harel.  The—”

Moira’s face paled, “the Dread Wolf?”

“Yes…”

Max looked at Moira, “Solas intends to bring back Arlathan…and the elves to their former glory.”

“But doing that would destroy mankind and every other that are not elven,” Moira spoke quietly.

“Exactly,” Max nodded, “that’s why we have to find him.  To stop him.”

“You said…somewhere he could hide a huge conglomerate.  An army, in other words?” Moira inquired.

“He has to move them somewhere and be hiding them.  Elves disappeared in droves after the Exalted Council from all over Thedas.  He has an army.  The question is, where is he hiding them?  Once we have that information, we can take the war to him.  _Before_ he is ready.” As Cullen spoke, he watched Moira study the map.

“Fen’Harel is a prideful bastard,” Moira smirked, looking up at them, “which means, he’s going to hide himself in the most obvious place.  Just so that he can feel superior to you.  His army, however, he’ll hide more efficiently.  I am willing to bet he has hidden them in the Crossroads; in the Eluvians themselves.  As for himself?  Well, where better to hide than your own name?”

Cullen blinked and looked down to where she tapped her finger.  Solas.  The city in Tevinter.  “Of course, because Tevinter once belonged to the Elves before humans took it over, didn’t it?”

“Oh goody.  A war in my homeland.  Just what I asked for Satinalia this year.” Dorian turned and walked to the kitchen, dishing himself some of the food. 

“This will complicate matters greatly, I’m afraid.  Our standing with Tevinter is…well, not entirely ideal.  Marching an army, no matter who it is comprised of, into Tevinter will be met with hostility.  Rather quickly, I might add.” Josie paced the room behind Max.

“That’s all very true,” Dorian spoke, his right hand curled before his face while his right elbow rested upon his left arm crossed over his torso.  “But, that is all purely circumstantial as well.  A smaller team, more well fitted for espionage, would be inconspicuous enough to slip into the city of Solas to search for a certain dastardly elf.  Plus locals would be far less likely to kill first; think later.  A fact I’m rather fond of, really.”

Cullen stepped back from the table.  He didn’t like this.  When was it going to be enough?  When would they give enough?  When would they finally be free of their obligations to protect this world?  He reached up to rub his brows, releasing a slow breath.  Tension headaches, although nothing compared to the withdrawal caused ones, were still something he suffered at times.  A weighted press against his thigh made him drop his hand to ruffle and scratch Pup’s head without even needing to think it.  He could feel his brow lower as he regarded the map and mulled over the information being speculated over.  If Solas was, in fact, within _Solas_ …that would complicate matters.  Who would go in a small strike team?  Surely not he.  Cullen’s duties were here.  Maxwell knew that.  But would he say ‘no’ if asked?  Who else did that leave?  Max, of course, but he was also a poor choice as he was probably one of the most easily recognizable men in the entirety of Thedas.  Dorian?  Again, same issue, especially within the Imperium.  Bull?  Ha!  He’d stick out worse than a sore thumb screaming in an echoing room.  Cass…maybe.  She could be fairly—

“I don’t suppose you’d possibly lend your expertise should we ask it of you, Miss Moira?”

Cullen’s throat constricted sharply.  His eyes snapped up to her.  Maker, no.  No, no, no, no, _no_. 

“I _do_ know the area…” She spoke softly, moving to stand fully as she answered Max’s question.  “I am also well versed in staying unseen.  I wouldn’t go alone though.”

“Of course not, we would find suitable company—”

“Like who?” Cullen felt himself cut in sharply.  “None of my men are really all that suited for such a mission.  Not anymore.  _You_ certainly can’t.  You’d be spotted and pegged upon sight.  I am a frontline soldier.  I don’t _do_ sneaking.  Bull?  Bull is about as inconspicuous as a lead hammer upon the Imperium’s foot.  Dorian is just as likely to be noticed.”

Max gave Cullen a displeased look, “we _have_ connections still.  Leliana could—”

“Provide people?  Spies?  And if they are found to be _hers_?  How would _that_ look to the rest of the world?  The Divine moving pawns for her own machinations that are secretive and possibly war-brewing?  How long until Orlais and Ferelden depose her?”

“Cullen, I think you’re being unnecessarily difficult about this…” Max stood to face Cullen.

“Are you quite finished?”

Cullen looked to Moira who was tapping her foot with a peeved look upon her face.  Directed at him.  As he opened his mouth to retort, she held her hand up toward him. 

“I think you’ve said far more than enough, Cullen,” she clipped out. 

Max cleared his throat, “I will reach out to _all_ of my contacts and see what I can procure.  After all, I have a feeling I know someone who wouldn’t mind aiding us.  Someone who knows how to get in, get things done, and get out without being overly obvious.”

“And who might that be?” Cullen asked, not liking this one bit.

“Hawke.”

“…you’ve got to be joking…” Cullen glared at Max.

“I’m quite serious.  I know your past with the man is less than ideal but—”

“ _Less than ideal_?!  If it weren’t for the bloody Breach and Corypheus, we would have killed one another back in Skyhold!  He’s a damn dangerous scoundrel with no bloody clue on how to keep people _safe_!”

“Yet he still has his companions…” Cass pointed out gently, “Cullen, we aren’t asking _you_ to deal with him.  I will.  Personally.  I will also help with this team so that you know someone trustworthy to _you_ is there.”

Cullen growled and shoved away, storming to the bedroom.  He slammed the door behind himself.  He ignored the crash of something on the other side.  He paced the length of his bed, clenching and unclenching his fists.  Too many poor memories threatened to swallow him then and there.  And to trust Moira to that…that… _fiend_?  He couldn’t.  He _wouldn’t_. 

* * *

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen  
** **Heat of the Moment**

Moira watched a carving fall to the floor and break under the force of Cullen’s outburst.  Max sighed heavily, rubbing his hand over his face.  Pup whined and sat beside her, pushing on her leg for comfort.  She glanced down at the mabari in stunned silence.  Kneeling, she hugged the canine and began to pet his fur soothingly. 

“Well,” Josie broke the tense quiet, “ _that_ could have been handled better.”

Trevelyan looked at his wife, “I wasn’t _trying_ to start a fight.”

“No, that much is true.  But you know his feelings when it comes to Messere Hawk,” Josie settled her hand on her husband’s right arm.  “Let us broach this subject again tomorrow.  We’re all tired and weary from long travel.  A good night’s rest will do wonders for all of us.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Dorian reached for his cloak that he’d tossed over the back of the couch.  “Amatus?  Coming?”

Bull rose and grunted his agreement, following the mage to the door.  “Night Boss, Josie, Seeker, Miss…”

“Good night, Bull.” Trevelyan replied as they stepped out into the cold. 

Cass rose and set her mug into the washing basin.  “I, too, shall turn in.  Hopefully the Chargers didn’t take up _all_ of the huts this time.  Good night.”

The Seeker left then, closing the door quietly behind her.  Moira sat back on the floor, running her fingers over Pup’s neck. 

“About earlier…” Trevelyan began, “I didn’t mean to open an old wound.  Forgive me.”

“Nothing to forgive,” Moira whispered loud enough for them to hear.  “We lived through that hell together.  It’s not just my…my skeleton in my closet.”

Trevelyan cleared his throat, “well, we’re off to bed as well.  Do you need us to walk you to your hut?”

Moira glanced at Cullen’s room door, “no.  I’ll find my own way.”

“All right then, good evening, Miss Moira.”

“Good evening, Miss Moira.  Rest well,” Josie smiled as she took her husband’s arm and stepped from the cabin. 

Moira sat for a while.  She rose slowly, patting Pup, and began to clean up the kitchen area.  She put the food into the cooling bin which she noticed also held a frost rune.  Their enchanter was definitely inventive.  She washed the dishes and was towel drying them when she heard Cullen’s door close far more gently than earlier.  He approached her, avoiding her gaze, and picked up a dish and a drying towel.

“You didn’t need to do this too.”

Moira shrugged, giving him the space he seemed to need.  “It’s just a simple chore.”

“Moira…I…”

“You don’t have to.”

Cullen sighed, dropping his hands to the counter and leaning on it.  “Yes, I do.  My outburst was unseemly and very—” he stared at his hands on the counter.  “Hawke and I have a very complicated past.  We were at odds in Kirkwall.  Over quite literally everything.”

“He supported the mages.”

“Supported?  Excused!  Everything!  When a mage was possessed, he _blamed us_!  Yes, there were… _many_ terrible things done to the mages.  I _know that_.  I _saw it_.  But there were mages who did just as many atrocious things against innocents!  And he…he just…”

Moira laid her hands over his.  “No one in this life is purely righteous.  Not even Andraste was wholesomely _right_ without mistakes.”

Cullen looked up at her, his eyes looked so haunted and the hurt she saw there broke her heart.  “I _cannot_ trust him with your safety.  Hawke is reckless.  Damaging.  I would rather _die_ than entrust _him_ to watch your back.”

“Do you trust Cassandra?”

“Implicitly.”

“Then that’s all I need.  Hawke will just be extra side help.  I don’t trust just anyone, Cullen.”

Cullen pulled her to him, hugging her tightly.  “I’m so tired, Moira…of always jumping to protect the world.  Of sacrificing a future and an actual _home_ in order to ensure _everyone else’s_ futures and homes.”

Moira pressed her cheek to his chest.  Her left hand rested over his right pectoral.  “You say that, but you are just simply the kind of man who follows what he believes is his duty first.  Until you stop _believing_ your hold the fate of the world on _your_ shoulders, you won’t be able to walk away.”

“I had a dream of retiring in a small house with a bit of land, once.  A wife, some children…a mabari or six…”

A laugh bubbled from her, amused and not the least bit surprised at the imagery.  “Was that when you joined the Inquisition?”

A long pause stretched before he seemed to release a breath like he’d been holding it in.  “No…it was from before Kinloch hold was overtaken.  When I had no real idea yet of what lyrium would demand of me; what the _Order_ would demand.  What have you dreamed of?”

“Belonging.”

Cullen ran his hands over her back soothingly, “and do you?  Feel you belong, that is?”

“Oddly…yes.  I do.  Most days it feels almost like…” _A home_.  She couldn’t voice it, not aloud.  Too many looming fears that would never let her be kept her from speaking it.

Cullen yawned; rather loudly at that.  He apologized sheepishly under his breath, but Moira shook her head. 

“You should get to bed, we both should,” a yawn overcame Moira then on her last word. 

Cullen took her hand and gently tugged her to follow him.  She did so, albeit a bit reluctantly.  Unsure if she should protest or allow herself this small bit of connection, Moira let him lead her to his bed.  He paused at his dresser to dig out one of his soft cotton shirts.  He handed it to her.  She took it and smiled at him. 

“I had hoped this evening would end…quite differently,” he admitted with an adorable pout and blush, “if I weren’t so exhausted I’d beg for another chance…”

“No need to beg,” Moira answered, keeping her gaze lowered to the floor.  “I feel quite similarly.”

“I _do_ intend to make it up to you.”

“And I intend to hold you to that.”

Cullen smiled at her, broad and warm.  It sent her stomach spiraling into a flurry of butterfly wings.  She couldn’t help but return the smile before turning around to peel her clothing off and slip the nightshirt over her head.  It fell to her mid-thigh.  Biting her bottom lip, she turned and crawled into the bed.  Cullen blew out the lanterns and joined her, curling so that they were melded against one another.  Moira rested her head on his bare chest and closed her eyes, enjoying the heat of his skin under hers.  The sound of his beating heart was soothing.  The Fade cradled her as it enveloped her into her dreams.

…..

The bed shifted beside her, rousing her.  She was so tired that she didn’t move.  A press of lips to her brow, the whisper of soft words that she couldn’t make out in her sleepy state, and the covers being tucked back around her shoulders was all she was aware of.  She fell right back into the Fade. 

It was a bit later when her mind began to rouse her.  She rolled onto her back and reached above her head, stretching like a languid cat.  She opened her eyes and yawned, pushing up onto her right arm and looking around.  Cullen’s room.  She noted he wasn’t in bed any longer; however in his stead, Pup laid on the end of the bed.  She reached over and scratched his ears.  The huge dog rolled over with a groan of content, seeking more attention.  She giggled and shifted to sit on her bare knees.  She rubbed Pup’s belly and under his front legs.  His big greyish-pink tongue lolled happily out of his enormous snout. 

“Who’s a good boy?” She cooed, earning herself a half-assed grunt.  Laughing fully at that sound, she leaned over and kissed his head before sliding off the bed.  She figured a nice hot cup of tea and maybe something simple for breakfast would help her prepare to face the day better.  She moved to the door and began to open it when it occurred to her that she had no idea who could be on the other side of that door.  As she stepped back, her thoughts were confirmed as she heard distinct male voices, muffled through the door.  Breathing a sigh of relief at her own wherewithal for once, she moved to find her tights.  She tugged them on and swapped Cullen’s shirt for her tunic dress.  She lifted the soft garment to her face and inhaled the remnants of his scent.  With a girly, giddy smile, she set it back down and schooled herself into a picture of calm. 

She stepped into the main part of the house and was a bit stunned at the group gathered there.  Rylen and Barris stood alongside Cullen near the bookcases.  Maxwell and Josephine sat at the table along with the magister Dorian, and Cassandra.  Before them laid out a rather impressive spread of food and at least four kettles of tea.  On the couch, armchair, and even floor sat the Iron Bull and six others.  She was overwhelmed with the knowledge she’d just barely skipped flashing all of these people.  Pup came trotting out. 

“Good morning, Miss Moira!” Josephine called out to her cheerfully.  “Come, have some breakfast.  Do you care for pastries?  Savory or sweet?”

Moira blinked and started to walk over to the table.  “Uh…I-I don’t have a preference, my lady.”

“Oh, please!” Josie waved her hand, “just Josie to my friends!  Please, have a seat.  Now, let’s see…oh!  Yes, these one has sweet cheese folded into it.  Ah!  And this one has berry reserves.”

Moira watched as the lady filled a plate with various foods and set it before her with a welcoming smile.  She thanked the lovely Antivan woman and poured herself a cup of tea.  She bit into the cheese pasty, pleasantly surprised by the flavor. 

“Well?  I’m simply dying to know.  Is our dear Commander truly a _Lion_ _of Ferelden_ between the sheets as well?” Dorian blurted out.

A piece of pasty lodged in her throat.  She began to cough violently to dislodge it, slamming her fist into her chest.  Josie was on her feet and quickly at her side, fretting over her.  Moira managed to unclog her throat and swallow properly.  She glared up at the Tevinter mage through watery eyes. 

“ _Dorian!_ ” Cassandra hissed while Cullen growled, ” _Pavus!!_ ”

Dorian, however, was unaffected.  “I know I’m not the only one curious in here.”

Washing down her dignity with a few large gulps of tea, Moira pointed at the mage across the entire table from her.  “That, _ser_ , is _none_ of your business.”

Dorian pouted prettily, “oh come now.  It truly is a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question.”

“Maker’s breath!  That is—just leave it be, Dorian!” Cullen grouched from his side of the house. 

“Am I really the _only_ one here curious?!” Dorian threw his hands up in the air.

“I’d like to know,” Bull threw out there.  “She seems feisty.  Was she feisty?  Tell me she was feisty.”

“We didn’t do _anything_ last night.  Your Commander was being very kind to let me sleep here instead of walking all the way back to the hut on the other side of the village.”

“Er…which one?” One of the men spoke up, his accent was that of a lower-class Tevinter. 

“The small one closest to the tavern, across from the healer’s hut…” Moira answered.

“Oh shit.  We, uh, kind of took that one last night.  It was yours?  Sorry ‘bout that, milady…”

“Did all the huts get taken up last night?” Bull asked then, regarding the six around him.

“Just the usual three we grab up when we come in.” The dwarf answered with a shrug.

“Then the last three were taken by the rest of us,” Cassandra surmised. 

“We can try to fit three men to a hut so you can get yours back, milady,” the same Tevinter man spoke again with a sheepish look.

“It wasn’t really _mine_.  I only left my weapon in there.” Moira took another bit of her breakfast.

“It won’t be necessary, Krem.  After Moira retrieves her weapon, she can stay here for the time being.” Cullen spoke with such an authoritative voice.  It sent a literal tingle down her spine.  _Okay, damn that magister for putting more inappropriate thoughts in my mind._  

Trevelyan began to chuckle, “that’s one way to make it official…”

“You realize I can hear you from here _and_ my aim has not diminished?” Cullen narrowed his eyes at the Inquisitor.

Trevelyan held his hands up, “don’t mind me.  Just going to eat my food.”

“That’d be for the best, I think.” Cassandra sighed, rolling her eyes.

“What _is_ it with this hierarchy?!  I disband the Inquisition and then I get _all_ the sass!  It’s like you all forgot who saved the damn world!” Trevelyan grumped, taking a large bite of a pasty.

“ _With help_ ,” Cassandra spoke but smirked all the same.  “And we always kept you humble.”

“…how much more humbling can a man take?  Maker save me…” Treveylan sighed, flopping back in his seat.

“Moira,” Bull called out, gaining her attention, “we met briefly last night.  These here are my boys.  Chargers, meet Moira.  Here’s Rocky, Skinner, Stitches, Dalish, Grim, and Krem.”

“Oh, I’ve heard plenty about your company.  You have quite the reputation.  Especially after joining the Inquisition all those years past.”

“Well, look at _that_.  You have a reputation.” Dorian drawled before sipping his tea daintily.

“Reputations mean better business, kadan,” Bull answered with a smirk.

Dorian made a sound but didn’t say anything further.  Moira cleared her throat, pushing her plate away.  “I should probably go check with the infirmary and Naren.”

“Are you sure?  Did you get enough to eat?” Cullen’s concern was touching.

“Yes,” Moira stood, moving to gather her shoes.  She tucked them onto her feet, “I need to mix together more potions anyhow.”

“All right then,” Cullen crossed to where she was.  “I’ll see you out, at least.”

They stepped out onto the porch, closing the rest inside his home.  He leaned over and gave her a gentle kiss.  Moira hummed; she could get used to this. 

“Did you mean it?  About my staying here?  I don’t want to be an imposition.  And people will talk…”

“Let them talk,” Cullen murmured as he kissed her again.  He ran his fingers through her hair, giving her full body shivers.  “You are _no_ imposition.”

“I really should go…” She whimpered as he shifted them so that she was pressed against his porch railing.  He was on the verge of deepening the kiss.  She wasn’t sure she could walk away if he did that.

“Mm,” he hummed before he pulled back with a devious smirk.  It made his scar over his lip stand out further and oh…was it ever sexy.  “Then I suppose you should go then, hm?”

“You’re not exactly making it easy!” Moira huffed with no force as she slid away from him and jogged down the steps.  She looked over her shoulder to see him watching her leave.  She bit back the stupid giggle that wanted to explode out of her.  Waving, she turned and jogged the rest of the way to the healer’s hut.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently my muse has decreed that I am NOT almost done with this as I have written five more chapters since the one I was working on last. And still not done. Sooo...this will be longer than I thought! But I'm fine with that. (Btw: I have 34 chapters written...so...there's PLENTY to come.)


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen  
** **In All I've Done**

The door to the healer’s hut groaned as she opened it.  Naren looked up from the table.  A dark brow rose at Moira in silent question.  A question the young mage wasn’t certain she knew how to answer.  Ducking her head, Moira set to gathering the needed supplies to mix together the potions they were running a bit low on; at least in her opinion.  It never hurt to have a surplus of healing tonics and potions.  As her hands kept her busy, her thoughts kept replaying every single antagonizing second in Cullen’s room _before_ they’d been interrupted. 

“Well, that answers that,” Naren harrumphed.

“What answers what now?”

“You and that Commander did not have sex after all.”

Moira’s face flushed.  She gaped, trying to formulate a sentence only to gape like a fish.  She finally managed to squeak, “how does _everyone_ know where I was!?”

“First of all, snogging in the middle of the street is never quite discrete.  Secondly, you didn’t return to your hut and some of those Chargers took it instead.” Naren looked at her in a way that if she’d worn spectacles, she’d be peering over them like a stern librarian.

Moira’s shoulders drooped, “ah, yes.  That…would make sense.  So, how did you know we didn’t…well…”

“No woman who’s been properly bedded is still quite so tense the next morning.”

“How do you know he didn’t just leave me dissatisfied?” Moira huffed, tossing her hastily tied back ponytail over her shoulder. 

“I find it hard to believe that a perfectionist like our dear Commander would be anything less than absolutely sinful between the sheets.  It is simply not in his nature to leave a woman wanting.”

If it were possible, Moira was certain she’d bring new meaning to the color rouge.  Her face was practically glowing with her embarrassment.  Naren snickered at her reaction. 

“This is really not something I want to discuss.”

“Of course not, dear.  Now, mix those potions up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good, now I need to run and grab a bucket of water and see to some more clean linens.  You keep up those potions.”  Naren spoke with her usual authority and left Moira alone in the hut.

Minutes passed by.  Moira was grinding down herb in her pestle when the door was thrown open with a clatter.  Maksim hobbled inside with Ilya hanging off of him in a mostly unconscious manner.  Toppling the glass potion bottle she was to fill with the potion concoction, she gasped and rushed to their sides.  She draped Ilya’s other arm over her and took most of his weight upon herself and off of the still healing Maksim.  She shuffled them to the nearest cot to lower the limp man to it gently.

“What happened?”

“He woke with a headache.  Usual for us both.  He refused the usual potions; wanted to tough it out.  He was adamant he should be able to soldier through such a thing.  I was resting my leg when he angrily stormed from the cabin.  He had his sword with him.  I assumed to go train in the field out back.  He was gone for so long that I worried…so I went to check on him and I found him prostrate upon the ground.  He was sweating, barely conscious, and muttering incoherently.  His forehead is burning.  Miss Moira…he—he’s like my _brother_.  We’ve been through so much together.  _Please_ , I’m begging you…”

“All right.  In this state, I have to lower his body temperature.  He’s burning too hot.”

Maksim nodded, sitting to the side and out of the way.  “I thought fevers were meant to be helpful?”

“They are.  When one is ill from an outside source.  Ilya’s own body is battling itself right now.  Not a foreign illness.” Moira cast her hands with a coating of ice and pushed an aura of frost out a few inches from her hands.  She settled her hands over his forehead, cupping carefully around to keep from touching his ears directly.  The heat from his forehead began to actually melt the ice over her hands.  She didn’t push more ice out; not yet.  Once the ice had receded enough for her to touch his forehead with her bare skin, she pulled her hands back. 

Wiping her brow with her sleeve, she broke the remaining ice from her hands and shook the remnants to the floor.  As she did so, she then summoned her healing mana to her hands in order to prod at Ilya and find a sense of what was wrong.  She spotted it then, a small cut on his brow.  A decent smear of his blood was upon her hand.  She frowned at that.  He must have hit his head when he’d passed out from his conditions.  A loud gasp broke her thoughts, drawing her gaze. 

Mounice stood in the doorway, her basket falling from her hands in a loud clattering.  She was staring at Moira like she was seeing an abomination sitting there instead.  Not having the time to deal with the woman’s issues, Moira turned from her and quickly wiped Ilya’s blood from her hand and resumed her efforts to tend to him.  She heard Mounice’s retreating footsteps.  She cursed mentally but shoved all of that drama aside for now.  Ilya deserved her undivided attention.  So she would give it. 

She settled her hands back over him and began to probe and search.  It was as she suspected.  The lyrium was mostly out of his system.  But it was clinging to him in just a last bit of effort.  The actual desperation and cravings were bound to set in full force soon.  She found no other signs except for the obvious overexertion and extreme exhaustion.  She sat back, withdrawing her magic.  Her own mana felt a bit stretched.  But nothing like the last time. 

“Will he be all right?”

“He just overexerted himself.  Pushed himself to the point of collapse.  Expect him to start becoming…combative soon.  The last of the lyrium in his blood will be passing through him in the next few days.  Then the truly hard part will come.”

“We stopped taking it at the same time.  So…what…what should we expect, Miss Moira?”

Moira’s cheeks puffed up as she blew out a large exhale.  “Well…the headaches will be worse.  Stomach cramps, muscle and bone aches.  Nausea.  Don’t be ashamed to vomit when it hits you hard.  Vertigo.  Mood swings.  Claustrophobia.  Cravings so deep they’ll feel like they’re personally clawing beneath your skin…”

Maksim’s eyes widened a bit, “that’s not very encouraging.”

“I’m not going to lie to you, Maksim.  The path you’ve both chosen?  It is as hard as it is painful.  But…on the other side, _when_ you make it out, you’ll be grateful you did.  Lyrium, though useful, is also costly.  I would rather recall every painful memory I’ve ever suffered than lose myself to dementia.”

Maksim nodded somberly, “yes.  That’s how we feel.  And we…we felt…the Order was no longer what we believed in.  So many men that started good became so…twisted.  The things we saw, Miss Moira…”

“I can very easily imagine,” Moira cut in. 

“You were in a Circle too, weren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“…I’m sorry.”

Moira was taken aback.  She looked up at him, astonished.  He gazed back at her with true sorrow and regret in his eyes.  The first time she was apologized to by a templar like this; even if he’d not been in Ostwick. 

“You have nothing to apologize to me for,” Moira smiled as she rose.  “He’ll need to rest.  I should probably go fetch Naren and inform her of what happened.”

“She’d going to skin both our hides.”

“Maybe…” Moira chuckled and left the hut.  She came out to find a templar in full plate armor awaiting her.  He stood at the base of the steps, hand on his sword and shield raised.  “Can I…help you?”

“ _Maleficar!!_ ” He yelled so loudly it echoed around the village.  His thick Orlesian accent didn’t help the drop in her stomach.  She felt her eyes narrow upon him at the grievous and very insulting accusation.

“I am no such—”

He moved so fast.  She barely rolled aside as his shield splintered the door surface behind her.  He turned and pursued her.  Vaulting over the railing, she quickly darted into the road and turned around to face him.  A mistake.  She threw herself backward, off balance, to avoid the sweep of his blade.  She felt the burning nick of his blade grazing her cheek.  She stumbled backward, trying to catch her footing.  Damnit!  Her weapon was nowhere near her!  What was she supposed to do now?   She spared the quickest scan of her surroundings.  A spear.  It was leaning against a cabin just up on her right.  She turned and ran like the Darkspawn were on her heels.  She dove for the spear, snagging it and rolling to avoid the next strike of the templar’s blade.  She was on her feet in a flash, spinning the longer ranged weapon in her hands.  She wasn’t proficient with a spear in the slightest.  But it was all she had.

A few templars came out to find out what the roaring and yelling was about.  She ignored them.  Until they turned blade upon her, she wasn’t going to focus on them.  She ducked another swipe and stabbed the spear toward him.  The templar blocked her with his shield and knocked the spear to the side.  She swore colorfully as he lunged at her open flank.  She jumped so that the blade once again only grazed her.  But, Maker, did it still hurt like a bitch.  Hissing, she dropped and kicked his thigh.  Hard.  He stumbled with a sound of pain. 

“Careful, brother!  She’s a foul demon!” Mounice cried from a nearby perch. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Moira snarled.

“Say your last words, _maleficar_!!” The templar roared and came at her so fast.  How the hell was he _so fast_ in full armor?!

A vicious snarl tore the air.  A blur of grey and white slammed into the templar, knocking him to the ground.  Pup regained himself and stalked back toward the downed man, teeth showing and growling deeply.  He was a purely frightening display of what mabari were capable of.  Pup moved to place himself before Moira, haunches lowered and ready for a strike. 

“What _is_ this madness?!” The templar hollered as he moved for his feet.

Pup gnashed his teeth and barked angrily at the man. 

“Can _none of you see_?!  She is a demon!  A _blood mage_!!”

“I am _not_ a fucking maleficar!!  I’ve _hunted_ them, with glee, before!  Check your sources before you slander another’s name!!” Moira snapped back, completely incensed. 

“WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!”

Moira actually flinched at the way Cullen’s voice carried over _everything_.  She glanced at him as he approached.  He looked like he was out for blood.  The templar moved to his feet, falling into formation.  Cullen stormed up to him.

“What the bloody void do you think you are doing?!”

“This woman is a _mage,_ Commander!  Not only that, practicing _blood magic_ at that!” The man retorted.

Cullen snapped his head to look at Moira, “blood magic?”

Moira felt her blood boil.  Did he really…?  She bared her teeth like Pup, “ _never.  And I will **never** resort to such an evil act._”

Cullen looked back at the templar, “what is your basis, Ser Auguste?  Do you have idea of the severity of such an accusation?”

“Of course I do!  My sister saw the woman with blood upon her hands as she practiced _magic_ within the healer’s hut!  Over Ser Ilya, no less!”

“He hit his head on a rock, you daft nug-fucker!  I had only just noticed the blood myself as I was attempting to heal him!!  If I were _really_ practicing _fucking blood magic_ , don’t you think Ser Maksim would have stopped me?!” Moira defended, her anger only growing more by the moment.

The templar turned to look at Mounice.  “You did not say Ser Maksim was there.”

Mounice’s face went white, “I…I did not think he was paying any notice to her actions…”

Cullen stared at Mounice as though she were the most moronic thing he’d ever seen.  “A templar…sitting beside his closest kin…would not notice _blood magic_ being done upon his cousin?  Truly?”

Mounice shrank back, “I—I saw blood upon her hand!”

Moira saw the tears glistening in the other woman’s eyes as Cullen stepped closer to the Orlesian.  She had the strangest sense of pity on the woman.  “Then you can _ask_ me about it.  Not assume such a dangerous thing about me.  Whatever you think of me, Miss Mounice, I am _not_ like _those_ that use such dark means.”

The templar, Ser Auguste, sighed and removed his helmet and knelt in subjugation.  “Commander, I humbly beg for your forgiveness.  I acted brashly.”

Cullen’s fists were still clenched tightly at his sides.  He regarded both siblings, turning to the templar first.  “Go to your cabin and stay there until further notice.  Rylen, I want Miss Mounice to spend the evening in the brig.  She must learn the hard way that making such false accusations are unacceptable here.  Should she not be able to learn from this mistake, she will be banned from this village.”

Mounice wailed as she was grabbed by two templars.  Ser Auguste looked suddenly ill, standing. 

“Please, Commander!  Allow me to go in her stead!”

“Then what would the purpose of her learning a lesson be, ser knight?” Cullen all but spat at the man.  “I gave you an order.”

Ser Auguste cast a worried glance at Mounice before he bowed his head and marched.  He did, however, send one scathing glare at Moira as he passed.  He probably would have shoulder butt her if not for Pup’s warning growl and shifting to keep himself between Moira and the threat. 

“Back to your business!” Cullen barked out, sending just about everyone around scattering.  He turned, rubbing his forehead as he approached Moira.  “Are you--?”

“Quite,” Moira clipped out, clearly still pissed.

“…Moira…”

“Don’t.  You _actually_ thought that of me for a moment there, didn’t you?”

“…what?  No!”

“Then why did you look at me like that as you asked about _blood magic_?!”

“I was taken aback by the accusation!”

Pup whined, looking between them.  Moira huffed, “you’re making the puppy upset.”

“I’m what?  He’s not a puppy!  He’s a grown dog and can…bloody void!  Why am I even arguing over the blasted mabari?!”

“I hate blood magic,” Moira mumbled.  “I especially loathe being accused of it.  It never ends well.”

“Most mages are slaughtered for just the thought of it, I know.”

“Yes, _most_.  I wasn’t.” Moira stepped around him and began to walk away.

“…you were accused of this before?” Cullen turned, moving to keep pace with her.

“Yes.  And I wish they had just killed me instead.”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha...haha...hahaha...yeah...my muse apparently led me astray. One more chapter and then I was able to round it out. So, 35 is where this ends. My stupid muse can be such a fickle biatch sometimes. Anywho! I'll be finishing posting this and posting the other one I've been working side-by-side on with this one. I've been taking advantage of my kids' bedtimes as the writing time. I get in at least two solid hours before the hubby gets home from work and then it's our TV, Dinner, and Snuggle time! (We've been rewatching Supernatural from season one. We only got to the start of season 9 last time. So we're currently back in season 6.) 
> 
> Hence the shitstorm of writing flurry I've been having. And I am posting two chapters tonight. Just feeling like it.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen  
** **I'll Be Right Here**

Cullen reached out, grasping her arm.  He pulled her to a stop.  She refused to look at him.  He held her arm gently in his hand.  He was dying to ask her; to implore her to _tell_ him about what she spoke of.  His pulse was leaping at the various theories jumping around his mind.  All of them left a sour taste in his mouth.  The possibilities were nothing short of dreadful to imagine.

Moira pulled free of his grip at last with a firm yank.  He let his hand fall back to his side.  She squared her shoulders and bowed her head once before walking away.  Part of him was screaming at him to follow her.  Pup whined and looked from her back to him.  Cullen sighed, gesturing after Moira.

“Go follow her, Pup.  Keep her safe.”

Pup chuffed and took off after her.  He had to give her space, lest he chase her off.  Running his hand through his hair, he trudged over to the forge.  Nothing like smashing metal into submission to work out some of his potent frustration.  He draped his shirt over the fence post before he set to work.  The sun worked its way across the sky as he submerged his mind into his tasks.  Approaching footsteps had his heart fluttering.  He turned, preparing what he was to say only to swallow his greeting.  Max stifled a laugh as he approached.

“Not who you were expecting, Commander?”

Cullen turned back to his work, “not entirely…”

“I could tell.  You’ve never looked at _me_ with such dreadfully hopelessly romantic bedroom eyes before.”

Cullen glared over his shoulder in warning at his close friend.  “Did this conversation have a point?”

Max put his hands up in surrender, “right.  Yes.  I can’t help but to tease you a bit.  You know that’s what friends do, right?”

Cullen heaved a heavy breath, setting down his tools.  “Yes, I—forgive me.”

“Nothing to forgive, Cullen.  She’s…been through much.  At least of what I personally know of.  I can’t imagine what else she may have endured in the years since I knew her.”

“Max, thank you.  I appreciate what you are attempting to do, but it truly isn’t anyone’s place to tell me but Moira’s.  If she is ready, she will tell me.  If she is never ready, then I shall simply have to live with that.  I would not desire my own dark past to be told from any but I.” Cullen crossed his arms, shrugging one shoulder.  “I trust that someday, when she is truly comfortable with me…she’ll share with me what she went through.  And I will share with her my own…transgressions.”

Max smiled broadly, “and yet you are so dense when women fawn over you like love-sick mabari pups…”

“What?  That is not something that happens,” Cullen scoffed.

“Uh, do _you_ recall Halamshiral?  The whole masked ball?  The nobles who literally grabbed and pinched your arse?  I’m fairly certain that falls under _fawning_.”

“Those were nobles pining for what title I held in the Inquisition and what it might gain them.  They fawned over the power, not me.”

“I beg heartily to differ.”

“By all means, just be sure to dust your knees when you’re through.  Josie will tan your hide if you ruin such a nice pair of trousers.” Cullen turned back to the forge. 

“You know what?  One of these days, I swear…the Maker will _show you_ how wrong you are.”

Cullen just snorted as he set back to work.

Max turned, walking away.  Cullen could swear he heard Max stop for a moment, chuckle, and then keep walking.  It didn’t matter either way.  He had a few pieces to finish today.  He had taken a few swords to be repaired and at least one shield.  So far, he’d finished up two of the three swords and was in the midst of repairing the third.  He rolled his eyes as he heard footsteps return. 

“Max, please!  Can’t you see I am busy?  I will have time to deal with your shenanigans later.”

Pup woofed at him.  Normally that would have made him just turn to give the canine a quick pat on the head.  But he distinctly remembered sending Pup with Moira.  He set his tools down very slowly and turned, wiping his hands on a spare towel he had tucked into his belt.  Moira stared back at him, her eyes looking on the verge of tears.  He was instantly distressed.

“Maker, what’s the matter?  Are you all right?  Did something else occur?  None of the others accosted you did they?” He asked in rapid succession as he walked toward her. 

She shook her head, looking like she was finding it difficult to speak.

“What is it, Moira?  Are you hurt?”

“N-no…not…it’s…I heard you.”

“…erm…w—which part…?” Cullen’s pulse quickened as his mouth felt a bit too dry. 

“What you said to the Inquisitor…a—about me.”

Cullen sighed, feeling a bit embarrassed.  “I meant what I said, though.  I will not ask you about anything.  It’s not my place.”

“What if I wanted it to be?” Moira asked him so quietly he nearly missed it.  But he did hear her, and that small admission on her part was enough to send his heart soaring. 

“Then I will listen to whatever you feel you’re ready to tell me.”

Moira nodded, keeping her eyes down on their feet.  “I—I got a letter from papa.  I think he’s…slipping.”

Cullen reached out to squeeze her upper arm.  “Give me a few moments.  I need to set this project aside where it won’t get damaged.  Then I’m all yours.”

Moira nodded yet again, moving to sit on the fence railing.  She swung her legs as she gazed off distantly.  Cullen quickly set to doing exactly what he’d said he would.  Once he was finished breaking down his station, he turned and grabbed his shirt from the fence post beside her left hip.  He held his hand out to her and she took it; hopping down with ease.  He threw his shirt over his shoulder and led her around the backside of the cabins and then off into the woods.  There was a cool stream with a very lovely mossy shore along it.  Once they reached the stream, Cullen moved to where he liked to sit and meditate on his lonesome.  Pup darted off to chase random small wildlife through the thicket.  Moira folded her legs beneath her as she sank down beside him. 

“What makes you think he’s slipping?” Cullen started, dipping his towel into the stream and wiping the sweat and grime from his face and torso. 

“He addressed the letter to my mother…”

“…oh.”

Tears began to roll down her lovely face.  Cullen paused in his motions.  He set the towel down and prayed she wouldn’t find his hands repulsive at the moment.  Reaching out, he wiped her tears away. 

“It was heartbreaking, Cullen.  He loves her so much still.  It’s as though he was writing to her before she took me and fled.  How can I write him again?  What if he believes he’s writing to my mother?  Isn’t that just cruel and awful of me to continue feeding that illusion?”

“You are blaming yourself far too much for this.  You are not responsible for any of this, Moira.”

“Am I not?” Moira threw her hands up and rose quickly.  She began to pace.  “My mother never would have needed to flee were it not for me!  It was because of _me_ that she murdered a man!  Cullen, my mother _murdered_ the son of her master!  _That_ is why we had to run away!  He came onto her, I found her, I ran to stop him, he hit me, and she literally smashed his head in with a vase.  Then I had to become a _fucking mage_.  Waving a stick around in a field, pretending to be a templar like my papa when I caught it on fire!  I killed my mother!  By becoming a mage, I _killed_ her!!”

Cullen jumped to his feet, moving to still her as she began to shake and sob.  She was digging her hands into her hair.  “Moira—Moira look at me.”

She did; slowly but surely, she did.  “Do you want to know why Max remembers me?  Because I killed a templar.  I started our tower’s revolt.  I wasn’t even planning to join.  But I…I was so angry, and he…he…so I killed him.”

“Your mother _protected you_.  She did what _any_ mother would have done.  Her baby was threatened and she reacted.  No, it wasn’t necessarily _right_.  But she didn’t kill because she _wanted to_.  As for killing your mother?  You did no such thing.  She loved you so much that she couldn’t live without you.  It wasn’t your fault.  Do you hear me?  None of that was.”

“And of the templar I killed?  Are you going to dismiss _that_ too?!”

“I cannot imagine you to be a cold-blooded killer.  Not without reason.”

“But I have, Cullen.  I’ve killed so many and I…I don’t even remember all the reasons why.” Moira shook her head, “how can you still _look_ at me?”

“Because I have killed for the wrong reasons too,” Cullen frowned, “I was a part of the mage hunters in Kirkwall.  I hunted mages like rabid animals that needed to be put down.  Maker I—I used to refer to them as inhuman.  I have seen the best and the worst of magic.  And I am not proud of the man I was before.  I loathe him to the depths of my soul.  I am _trying_ to rebuild my life in a way that the Maker would be happy with.  Would…perhaps let me go to his side when I die after all.  We _all_ have done wrong for the reasons we thought were right.  I don’t believe you killed a templar without reason.”

Moira looked up into his face, her expression full of fear; she looked so lost.  Maker, when he looked into her beautiful eyes, he felt like he was free-falling from the cliffs of the Storm Coast.  It should have terrified him; to be so moved by one person.  But he felt something _else_ he couldn’t quite put a name to deep within his soul.  He wrapped her hands in his own, resting them upon his chest.  Her eyes darted around his face as though searching for some sort of sign.  As to what, he couldn’t say. 

“What should I do, Cullen?”

He inhaled slowly, “you should go see to your father.  He needs you now.”

“…more than I’m needed here?” Her eyed dropped to their hands.  He could read the disappointment in her face even as she tried to hide it. 

“Your place will _always_ be here.  You _are_ needed.  But your father…Moira, he’s your family.  Were I in your shoes, I would leave to tend to my own father.  You _both_ need this closure.”

Moira’s head moved with her acknowledgement.  “Then…I—I should go…”

“Write to me the moment you arrive,” Cullen heard the plea in his own voice.

She raised those lovely blue-violet eyes to his, “I will.”

“Maker but I’ll miss you,” he admitted on a breath.

“And I you.”

He released her hands.  She stepped back.  Then he watched her walk away.  His bones ached from how tightly he held himself still so as not to go after her.  If he stopped her now, it would be for his own selfish reasons.  He’d told her the truth.  She was needed by her father in this time.  That didn’t stop it from hurting, physically and emotionally, to let her go.  Pup trotted back, whining at him.  Cullen dropped his gaze to the canine. 

“She’s leaving,” he said as though answering a question. 

Pup looked to the path Moira took, chuffing and then barking while looking up at him.  Cullen shook his head, “no, Pup.  She has to do this or she’ll hate herself forever.”

Another chuff and a thump as Pup sat down. 

Cullen turned and stared back at the stream.  At some point, the moon rose high in the sky.  It was time to head back.  She should be long gone by then.  He wouldn’t be able to chase her if he never knew which way she went.  With that thought, he trekked back to the small village.  He paid no heed if he received any looks.  He knocked the dirt from his boots as he stepped into his cabin.  Max stood, leaning against the back of his couch, watching him as he nudged his boots off and set them in the holder.

“She’s gone.”

“That she is…” Cullen sighed, raising a hand to run through his hair.  It was getting too long again.  Maybe that was something he’d tend to in the morning…

“Was it because of the Orlesian fiasco earlier?”

Cullen shook his head, “no.  Her father is slipping into his lyrium madness…”

“…Maker…” Max breathed, sympathy in his voice.  “Then, she’s gone to—?”

“Say her goodbyes and bury him, yes.  Lyrium madness comes on quickly and—” Cullen frowned at the floor, “I can’t save her from this pain, Max.”

“No, you can’t,” Max agreed quietly, “but what you _can_ do…is be here for when she comes back.  And she _will_ come back, Cullen.”

“Yes?  What makes you so certain?” Cullen asked, honestly curious.

“Because she’s in love with you.”

“…you cannot be certain that is true—’

“I can.  I am.  And _you_ love _her_.”

Cullen stared back at his friend.  _Ah,_ he thought, _so **that** is what I am feeling after all…_

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second update for the night. Next will be up tomorrow night. Much loves!


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**   
**Tonight You’re a Stranger**

Moira managed to hold back the waterworks; at least until she’d saddled up on Grizzly and had urged her faithful companion into a gallop out of the village.  Once she was far enough, she stopped caring.  The tears burned down her face.  Cullen was right.  She had to be with papa through this.  But, Maker save her, she was hurting _so much_.  She’d never felt such a sorrow at leaving a place behind.  She had _no idea_ how long this could take.  Lyrium madness was usually quick from what she’d heard and understood.  But what did that even mean?  A week?  A month?  A year?  With every yard that was placed between herself and Cullen, it tore at her heart a little more. 

She hadn’t ridden hard like this in so long.  She’d almost forgotten what it felt like to have her horse racing through the gathering night.  A few hours passed and she slowed Grizzly to a trot then to a walk.  She slid down and walked the next three hours in order to let Grizzly get a rest from being pushed so hard.  She would not kill her horse in order to reach papa quickly.  She mounted Grizzly once more and they finished pushing on through the night.  By the time the sun was almost halfway across the sky, Moira was riding into the tiny road-side town.  It was hardly even a town, honestly. 

The exhaustion she should have felt was being overshadowed by the adrenaline and the pure terror at what she’d find once she got to papa’s home.  She climbed down from Grizzly’s back and put her steed in the horse shed.  With a large bucket of oats and water, she pat her horse’s neck before leaving.  She climbed the steps and approached the door.  She’d retrieved her blade from the small hut before she’d overheard Cullen talking with Max. 

The door creaked as she pushed it.  Her heart was in her throat.  She stepped inside the hut and cried out in alarm.  Her papa was lying on the floor, face-down.  She ran in, falling to her knees beside him.  Shaking him, she rolled him over.

“Papa!  Papa!”

Greagoir groaned lowly, blinking his eyes.  “Whozzat…?” He slurred.  She searched for alcohol bottles and didn’t find any.  He never drank into a stupor at the tavern.  At least not when she was here. 

“It’s me, Papa.  It’s Moira…”

Greagoir looked at her, a frown on his face.  “I know your face…”

She smiled.  He reached up to trace her cheek. 

“Heliana…” He murmured. 

Moira’s heart dropped.  “N-no, Papa.  I’m _Moira_ , your little girl.  Remember?”

“I have a daughter?” He mused as though it was news to him.  Then he blinked, “Moira!  That’s right!  My little girl.  Won’t you help papa up, little dove?”

Moira nodded, fighting her emotions as she helped her father rise.  She was instantly aware of just how much had changed since she’d left.  She’d not been gone _that_ long.  How did he lose this much weight?  She began to carefully examine him without using her magic.  She had no idea how he would react to her magic in his current state.  Cullen had said that papa had always been a _good_ templar.  But it wasn’t a risk she was willing to take.  At least she had the Divine’s proclamation of all mages being free on her side.  If he did flip out, accusing her of being an apostate, templars wouldn’t rush out of the woodwork to drag her back to a circle. 

He settled into his bed, instantly looking years older.  His gray was more pronounced.  Had she been gone that long?  No.  No more than two weeks.  She sighed, brushing his hair from his face. 

“I’m going to fetch some cool water, papa.  Stay here, all right?”

“Mm, all right.  Be a darling and give papa his lyrium bottle too, would you little dove?”

Moira bit her lip and made her voice as even and smooth as possible.  “Don’t you remember, papa?  You don’t have any more.”

Greagoir looked at her; his brow creasing.  “I just made a draught, didn’t I?”

“No, papa…you haven’t had it for a while.”

“No, no, little dove.  I remember.  I had…I _had_ one…on the table…did someone take it?!  Did someone take my lyrium!?”

He tried to sit up and Moira grasped his shoulders.  Gentle but firm, she pushed him back down.  “No one stole your lyrium, papa.  I tell you what, I’ll look.  All right?  You stay right here and I’ll look while I get some water.”

“…all right then.  You do that, my love.”

Moira schooled her features into a smile and rose, moving to where the bucket usually sat.  She stepped outside and released the breath she’d been holding.  Leaning back on the hut’s outer wall, she closed her eyes.  She was in for a long journey here…

…..

Days turned into weeks; weeks into months.  Moira bore the brunt of it all.  Greagoir wasn’t an angry man.  He wasn’t taken to fits of rage or throwing.  But he certainly had moments where he could hurl some of the most soul-rending accusations.  He accused her of taking his lyrium, robbing him, starving him, and even called her a few choice words at times when his mind was truly so fogged he didn’t remember his own name.  The days he was _almost_ cognizant of the world around him were worse.  He’d sob, begging her forgiveness.  Beg her to just give him some lyrium to take the edge off.  To give him the clarity he needed to remember her face.  Those were the days she wanted to lock herself outside and cry until she was raw inside.  Her only reprieve were Cullen’s letters. 

She’d not written the first week she’d arrived.  Guilt kept making her feel horrid until she wrote him.  She knew he’d understand why she’d had to wait.  But it still tore at her.  Three days later, she had a reply letter.  Every other week they wrote.  Until he stopped.  She worried he’d gotten very busy…or worse yet…that he’d moved on from her.  She’d curse herself for such stupid thoughts. 

It was at night, when papa was sleeping, that she would re-read every word.  Cullen’s crisp, precise writing was no-nonsense frills or loops.  Like the man himself.  In those moments, she could clearly hear his voice saying the very text she would read.  And she missed him.  Oh, but she missed him.  She ached to hear his voice, to touch his face.  To make him snort at her ridiculous joke.  In those moments, she realized she was madly in love with him.  Her dreams were of his face.  Her thoughts were tied up in knots around him.  She could hardly breathe without a memory surrounding him coming upon her. 

She was out for more water.  Her thoughts racing round and round her mind’s favorite subject when a loud crash came from within the hut.  Moira’s heart stopped.  She dropped the bucket in her haste to sprint back.  She threw open the door.  Papa was convulsing next to the table he’d overturned.  She ran inside, moving to him quickly.  She could hear someone yelling in the distance.  It wasn’t until she felt her breath coming shorter that she realized it was herself.  Papa slowed in her arms.  She tucked one of his stray hairs that had worked free from the small ponytail she’d put it in earlier back from his sweaty brow.  His hazel-brown eyes were so unfocused.  His breathing was coming in labored pants.

“Papa…?  Papa, please, answer me.  Papa?!”

His eyes slowly rolled to look at her.  Reminiscent to the day she’d arrived, he lifted his hand weakly to cup her face.  He smiled, just barely lifting the corners of his mouth.  “Little dove…”

“That’s right, I’m right here.  I’m here, Papa…”

He breathed out. 

And he didn’t inhale again. 

Moira’s eyes blurred over as she shook him.  His hand fell limply to the floor.  She shook her head as her eyes began to overflow.  “Papa?” She croaked out.  He didn’t reply.  He didn’t move.  His eyes were glassy and unseeing.  She couldn’t see the light in them.  Trembling, she bent over him with a whimpered, choked sob.  She buried her face in his chest and wept unlike anything she’d wept over before.  Moira’s back hurt from how long she sat bent over her papa’s lifeless body.  Three months of living the void in person.  And now…he was gone. 

The still open door swept in a cold autumn breeze.  The night air was as devoid of warmth as her father’s now cool body.  She slowly sat up, sniffling as she did so.  Her shaking hand moved to close his eyes. 

“May you walk at the Maker’s side, papa, for you are a blessing to his people.”

She moved carefully away from him and moved outside.  She grabbed the axe from the side of the house and began grabbing firewood to split.  Once she had a good size pile, she began to built a pyre.  She set up longer logs atop some thicker logs on the outside of the straw, kindling, and firewood.  It was roughly the length of a person’s body.  She dragged out large rocks and built up a fire buffer.  She then went inside and used all of her strength to lift her father up, dragging him slowly to the pyre.  She laid his form atop her structure.  She shook with the effort as she kissed his brow one last time.

“Goodbye, papa…I love you, forever.” She choked back another sob and stepped back.  The flame spell came easily enough, but she couldn’t light the fire.  She dropped her hand; the spell fizzling out.  She looked heavenward, trying to regain some semblance of control over herself.  She cried, frustrated with her inability to light the pyre. 

“Come on, boys.  Light the pyre.” A gruff voice came from her left.  She turned, startled as the tavern keep along with the other five men who lived in the tiny little excuse of a town approached.  Stockard, the mead maker, walked over to her side.  He was the one who’d spoken.  “Ain’t nobody should be sayin’ goodbye to their family alone.”

Moira’s lips trembled and she nodded, unable to voice her thanks.  One of the men lit the pyre.  The five men and Moira stood in the cold night, watching as the fire grew and enveloped her papa’s body.  Smoke danced up toward the Maker’s sky.  She hugged herself.  All she wanted right then was for a certain pair of strong arms to envelope her tightly.  Stockard moved a step closer, draping his arm across her shoulders.  She leaned over and took the small comfort from one of her father’s friends. 

“ _The light shall lead her safely,”_ Stockard began to sing in his grizzled old voice.  The other men began to join in.  Moira listened, unable to voice the chant herself. _“Through the paths of this world, and into the next, For she who trusts in the maker, fire is her water, As the moth sees light and goes toward flame,”_ their voices, although not all in tune, rose in the night.  She was certain her papa could hear them.  She opened her mouth and pushed herself to join.  The tune and the words like an old memory.  _“She should see fire and go towards Light, The Veil holds no uncertainty for her, And she will know no fear of death, for the Maker, Shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword_.”

“A good man, he was,” Stockard stated as their voices faded from the song, “come by the tavern when you’re ready.  I’ve got your ale and food covered, lass.”

Moira nodded, thanking him weakly.  The five men stood around for a while until the flames died down to embers.  One of the men, Drewan—if she recalled correctly—stopped before her. 

“We’ll bury his bones, Miss.  You don’t need to fret.  Take your time.  We’re all a stone’s throw away if you need something.”

Moira was incredibly moved by the show of kindness she was receiving.  Each man gave a similar statement before they bade their goodbyes.  The last two men doused the last of the embers.  The sizzling of the now wet pyre echoing through the quiet.  By the time she laid her head upon her pillow, the sun was beginning to rise.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter broke my heart. TT,TT


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Seventeen**   
**Way Down We Go**

His bones popped as his muscles cursed him.  Standing from his stooped position for the last several hours, Cullen nearly groaned.  He had much to prepare for.  His thoughts circled back to Moira.  It’d been three long months.  The guilt hit him again.  He’d not written her in over a month.  The Inquisitor’s visits to their encampment were growing a bit more frequent.  And worse yet… _Hawke_ was on his way along with his merry little band of miscreants.  Varric had already written Cullen with the closest to a pre-emptive apology he’d ever receive.  At least the dwarf had the good sense to realize what a terrible idea it was to have Hawke within a meter of Cullen. 

Sighing, he rubbed his neck.  Pup was fast asleep in his flattening bed.  Cullen made a small mental note to have it stuffed up again.  Yet another thing he needed to do but had no time to look into.  He was dreading writing the letter he was implored to articulate.  He wasn’t sure how to word it.  Not without sounding like a heartless bastard, at least.  Max begged him to get into contact with Moira.  After all, it was her knowledge they were apparently relying upon.  With the last batch of templars that had arrived just the other week, things were just…bloody hectic. 

He called out a simple, “enter,” at the sound of a knock on his door. 

Rylen stepped inside, looking at him.  Shaking his head, the Starkhavener clucked his tongue.  “You look like shite warmed over, mate.”

“How do I write Moira, asking her to come back, in order to be used by us?  Especially now?”

“Well, at least you didn’t save the easy questions for me,” Rylen raised his brows.

“Rylen, please.  I’ve not the time nor the patience to handle the sarcasm now.”

Rylen inclined his head as he stepped closer, “you _could_ ask someone else to write her.”

“…that is a cowardly approach.”

“Aye, true.  Have you been fretting over that all evening?”

“I—yes.  And this… _plan_.”

“And Hawke arriving in the next few days.”

Cullen’s eyes glared at the map, “yes.  That.”

“Are you sure you two can keep the blades at bay?”

“No,” Cullen replied bluntly.

“This is a really bad idea.”

“Yes, yes it is.  But as I’ve been told repeatedly by Trevelyan, Cassandra, Josephine, and Divine Victoria…we don’t _have_ a choice.”

Rylen whistled, “even the Divine, eh?”

“Do you wish to read her letter?  It’s right over there.  Top left pile.  It’s rather scathing, I assure you.”

“I wish I knew what to say, Cul.”

“There isn’t much _to_ say, Ry.  It is what it is.  Once again, I simply have to live with it.” Cullen knew his tone was bitter, but it was beyond his capacity to care at the moment.

“Just, make sure you eat.  Some of us are starting to worry that you’re slipping back into _that_ Commander mode.”

Cullen grimaced, “I will eat.  I promise.”

“Good.  Get some rest too.”

“Anything else, mother?” Cullen joked drily.

“Take a bath!” Rylen threw over his shoulder as he stepped out.

Cullen snorted as the door shut.  He knew Rylen had just been sent to check on him.  If he was making the most senior of his men and women worry over him, he wasn’t exactly being discrete in his misery.  Rubbing his face, he chose to take Rylen’s advice.  He drew himself a bath in his bathing room off his room.  Once he was sufficiently clean, he dried off, dressed, and settled into bed.  But sleep scorned him.  Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her.  Her smile, her tearful face, her teasing grin; he heard her laughter, her jests, her soft moans and breathy sighs.  Everything.  It was torture.  He opened his eyes and not for the first time since she’d left, he desired the familiar nightmares from his years past instead.  At least he knew what to do with _those_.  This?  This he didn’t know what to do with.

At some point, he closed his eyes and fell into a dreamless, exhausted sleep.  He woke with a start when he was touched.  He quickly turned to see what was laying upon his hand.  Pup’s paw and the mabari’s big brown eyes filled his sight.  He groaned and rolled to sit on the side of the bed.  A quick glance at his shuddered window told him the sun was up.  He didn’t feel like he’d even slept.  He rubbed both hands over his face vigorously.  His roughly stubbled face scratched his palms.  He needed to shave.  However, it wasn’t a pressing matter.  So he didn’t need to worry over it now.  Rising, his scratched his chest as he walked from his bedroom to the main part of the house.  He spotted a bowl with a note set beside it. 

Picking up the note, he frowned as he read a single sentence.  _“Cook sent porridge so you’d best eat it lest you anger him,”_ signed Rylen.  He couldn’t have been _that_ much of a worry to everyone.  Huffing a bit indignantly at being babied, he plucked up the still-warm bowl and simply scarfed it down without bothering to really taste it  When finished, he rinsed the bowl and left it among the three others in his sink. 

 _All right,_ he mentally acknowledged, _maybe I really am slipping back into past bad habits._

“Come on, Pup.  Let’s get some work done.” Cullen set about dressing before leaving his home.  He was halfway to the forge when one of the newer templars approached him.  Something in Cullen’s gut screamed at him not to trust this man.  There was no other evidence to go on but that, however.  The man did his assigned tasks without complaint.  He was diligent as far as Cullen could tell.  He was also professional and to the point when speaking with Cullen.  “Ser Levenshire.  What can I do for you this fine morning?”

Levenshire stopped a few paces before him, “I was curious about some rumors I’ve been hearing.”

“Oh?  And what might they be?”

“That there was a mage healer among your rank; one that may return?”

“…yes.  Is there a problem?”

Levenshire’s lips thinned just enough to show his obvious displeasure, “I’ve never had good dealings with mages, Knight-Commander.  They are like vipers waiting for the precise moment to strike.  _Especially_ the ones who claim to be _healers_.”

Cullen’s eyes narrowed upon the man.  “Divine Victoria abolished the Circles.  Mages are people, just as templars are.  Everyone, no matter who or what they may be, have the capability to be either good or evil.  I watched templars, _good men_ once, fall to Corypheus’ lies and deceit.  Taking red lyirum and becoming abominations not so unlike mages who’ve succumbed to temptation…”

A movement behind Levenshire caught his eye.  His heart sped up at the sight.  Moira was back!  She was walking toward him, a curious frown on her face as she studied Levenshire’s back.  Cullen wanted to dismiss the man and go to her.  He was about to excuse himself when Levenshire caught his distraction. 

“What is it, Knight-Commander?” The other man turned just enough to see Moira. 

Cullen watched the woman he loved sieze up.  She froze in place.  Her face didn’t even mask the pure, unadulterated terror that filled her face.  Her eyes were widened, her lips trembled.  And then came a fury over that fear. 

“ _You!”_ Moira snarled.  Even from a few yards away, her voice carried over the distance.  The venom that dripped from just _one word_ was enough to make Cullen’s blood chill.

“ _You?_!” Levenshire spat, spinning and reaching for his blade.  Cullen grabbed the man’s hand and stilled his motion. 

“This is our healer!  You will not raise arms against one of our own!” Cullen stepped forward a full pace; planning to dispel this sudden animosity.

“I _killed_ you, you _demon_!!” Moira withdrew her weapon, eyes wild. 

“Moira!  What are you—?” Cullen started but was stunned by the sharp elbow to his solar plexus.  The motion made him stumble.  He wheezed as the strike winded him.  Looking up, he watched as Levenshire charged Moira. 

The feeling of a purge swept over them.  Moira flinched, but to her credit, she only gasped before she dove aside.  She swung around and the clang of metal rang out over the area.  The slide of the blades disengaging was not pleasant.  Cullen regained himself quickly.  Never before did he regret not carrying a sword upon himself at every waking hour any longer.  These days were supposed to be over!  A sharp cry made his eyes flick sideways.  Rylen charged forward, with a sword in hand.  Cullen rushed toward the two attempting to murder one another.  Rylen moved to counter Levenshire.  Cullen got behind Moira and threw his arms around her, banding her arms to her sides.

She screamed and fought him.  Maker have mercy on whatever soul this woman decided to kill.  She was _hard_ to hold onto. 

“Moira!  _Stop!”_ He hissed in her ear.

“NO!!” She shrieked, desperately trying to break his hold.  “Not until he’s _dead!!”_

 _“You cannot kill these people!!”_ Cullen growled back.  That’s when he felt her hysterical sobbing while she tried to escape him. 

Maker, what _happened_ between these two? 

Rylen barked out an order at Levenshire to stop.  Levenshire feigned surrender; then he struck Rylen upon the side of his head with his pommel.  Rylen stumbled to the ground, a bloody wound gushing.  Adelaide moved to his side swiftly from the sidelines.  Levenshire charged at them like an angry bull. 

Cullen threw himself with Moira aside, hissing as Levenshire’s blade tore into his side.  It was _not_ a clean cut.  Moira was on her feet in a flash.  Cullen grabbed at her only to recoil as his side shot flashing white-hot pain through his flank. 

“Still a whore for the templars, I see!” Levenshire spat as he swung his sword around, attempted to slash open Moira’s stomach.  She jumped back just enough to avoid the blade.  She didn’t dodge like usual.  Cullen realized why.  She was standing before him as a shield.  He could have cursed the woman then. 

“I was never a whore!!  That would imply I _wanted_ it!!!” Moira screamed back at him, running at him without a calm head. 

Naren knelt over him, pressing a cloth to his open wound.  Cullen hissed and flinched from her. 

“Be still, you foolish boy!” Naren chastised haughtily.

“Moira—”

“Ser Barris and Ryla are moving in upon him from behind now.  Your lass isn’t a pushover, Commander.”

An angry shout echoed.  Cullen turned his head, straining to see over his shoulder.  He made out Barris and Ryla restraining Levenshire while Adelaide was holding Moira back.  Whatever the woman was saying to Moira was obviously more effective than his words had been.  Moira stopped trying to escape.  She nodded and turned from Adelaide, starting to walk with the woman toward him.  She wouldn’t look at him. 

“Unhand me!!  She is a heathen!  A guttersnipe!  She is a succubus; a demon lying in wait for victims!  Don’t be blinded by her!!” Levenshire cried as he was dragged backward, fighting his own restraints. 

Moira’s fists shook at her sides, she kept her face down so that her now battle-loosened hair covered her expression. 

“Moira, I need your help.  The Commander’s wound is deep; I don’t think I alone can fix this.” Naren called out Moira.

Moira nodded mutely and moved to kneel beside Naren.  She raised her hands to his side with her mana infused over them.  Cullen flinched.  Even after all this time, his gut instinct to magic was to recoil.  Moira hesitated but then settled her hands over his wound.  With Naren swiftly cleaning the wound and keeping it clean, the mana healing process went faster than Cullen anticipated.  But it hurt like the bloody void.  Without any potions to take the edge off, Cullen bit his own fist. 

“I can suture it from here, girl.” Naren stated.

Cullen didn’t feel a slowing of mana.  Instead, it increased.  He inhaled sharply as more mana flooded the wound.  Naren looked up sharply.

“I said no more is needed, girl!” Naren snapped.

“Naren, will all due respect…shut up.” Moira spoke, her voice a strained whisper. 

Cullen grunted, “Moira…stop.  There’s no need—”

“Shut.  Up.”

A stinging heat singed over his wound.  He didn’t dare move.  Naren scowled at Moira until she made a soft sound of shock.

“Maker save my soul, it’s closed.  How did you—girl!!”

Cullen felt Moira hit the dirt beside him.  He moved without thought of his wound; which was as Naren said.  Completely closed.  He didn’t feel much more than the discomfort of having been injured.  He turned and felt his heart stutter.  Moira was so pale, her breathing labored and slow. 

“Naren?” He asked, feeling himself on the edge of losing his mind. 

“Pick her up, boy!  Get her to my hut.”

Cullen didn’t have to be told twice.  He chanced a quick glance at Rylen who gave him a half-assed thumbs up before Cullen jogged to the healer’s hut.  He got her inside and laid down on the nearest cot.  Her pulse was fluttering unrhythmically.  No.  Maker, no.  Please, no…not her.  He _couldn’t_ lose her!  He heard Naren shuffling; bottles tinkling.  Something was being ground.  He didn’t look; couldn’t look away for the fear that if he did…  _No, she’s going to make it.  Maker, please!  Please, if you have any mercy for me at all…spare her._

A smell hit his nose that made his spine snap upright, his eyes narrow, and his muscles clench.  Naren hurried over with a small vial of familiar blue. 

“Naren, what is the meaning of this?!” Cullen all but roared; trying to keep his voice under controlled.

“Who do you think confiscated these philters?  And if there was ever a time that called for an emergency?  This is it, boy.  If you can’t handle it, get out.  She depleted her mana to the point of using her own damn Maker-given life energy reserves to seal that wound.  This will restore her mana and allow her own energy reserves to restore naturally.”

Cullen eyed the vial wearily but looked at Moira.  So weak and so frail before him.  He nodded once, praying she’d forgive him someday.  Not that he would blame her if she never did. 

Naren gently pried Moira’s mouth open and dribbled the lyrium into the prone woman’s mouth.  Then held her nose and tilted her head up.  Cullen _felt_ the power of the lyrium going into Moira.  He could smell it, taste it, and _hear_ it’s thrum.  But the hankering wasn’t as strong.  In fact, he hardly felt anything but disdain for the blue liquid.  Naren quickly set about cleaning up the lyrium so as not to have any traces left for any of the other recovering lyrium addicts find it.  Cullen sat with Moira, praying.  He couldn’t remember praying this hard since he’d been held captive in Kinloch Hold.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...yup. Shit just got real. First her dad and now this? Poor Moira...


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: mentions of previous sexual abuse...

** Chapter Nineteen **   
**Tell Me You Love me**

The Fade was far more vivid than Moira could remember.  Just as with her harrowing, the strength of her connection with the Fade brought with it a few demons.  Most were easy to overcome and banish; but the desire demon held the most temptation.  It paraded all the potentials with Cullen.  Even taking his form to try and get her succumb.  It would be a lie to say it had no effect upon her.  She struggled until she finally banished the demon.  It was just after she overcame the demon’s charms that she began to wake.  She woke with a weight upon her chest. 

She moved her left hand drowsily to what she believed to be Pup’s head.  Her fingers sank into soft curls.  She stilled.  Pup’s fur was coarse and straight, not curly.  She opened her eyes slowly and blinked the blur of sleep from her eyes.  She moved her gaze down to see Cullen’s sleeping form hunched over.  His head laid upon her breast, his left arm tucked under her pillow, his right draped over her waist.  A twist in her heart made her close to eyes to try and push down the angry tears that wanted to fall.  She wanted to tell him about her past on her own time.  Her own _terms_.  Not have her past thrown in her face and blurted before the entire world.  What made her the most upset was the fact that she had no idea how the hell Caidum was _alive_?  She’d stabbed him and kicked him from one of the tower windows the night of the Ostwick uprising.  He shouldn’t have survived the fall!  If the knife wound hadn’t killed him, the fall _should have!_  So how? 

Cullen inhaled deeply and yawned as he stirred.  Moira laid rigidly still as he moved to sit up, rubbing his neck.  He looked down at her.  She kept her eyes averted from him.  Her shame wouldn’t allow her to look upon his face. 

“Thank the Maker!” Cullen sighed loudly, leaning to cup her cheek.  “I worried I was going to lose you…”

“How can you look at me?” She seethed, pulling away.  “You were injured because of me.  Because of _him_.  You—” Moira clenched her mouth shut. 

Cullen looked over her face before he gently held her chin, turning her face to him.  “I got injured because I defended the woman I care for.  If that is not reason enough for such an injury, I don’t know what is.  Please look at me, Moira…”

She was struggling to keep her emotions at bay.  Unable to avoid his soft plea, she turned her eyes to his.  His warm, honey-whiskey eyes drank in the sight of her.  She didn’t deserve him.  It would have been kinder if she’d never returned…wouldn’t it? 

“Maker, I missed your lovely face,” he breathed as his hand moved to stroke her face. 

“Cullen, I—”

“She’s up?” Naren asked as she entered the hut, “Maker bless us all.  Girl, when I say stop…you _stop_!”

Moira looked up at Naren, a feeling of guilt rippling over her at the thinly-veiled worry in the older woman’s eyes.  “I’m sorry, Naren.  But I had to save him.”

“You _had_ , you daft girl.  The rest would be a few stitches, some bandaging, and salve.  You realize what I had to do to save your sorry arse?  Lyrium.  I had to force lyrium down you.”

Moira’s eyes widened, looking at Cullen expectantly.  He dropped his gaze to the floor and inclined his head in answer to her unvoiced question.  “L-lyrium?  But…”

“It was the only way I could think of, girl.” Naren groused, obviously trying to hide her own guilt with a gruff tone.

“I…no.  I…understand.  I’m sorry for letting it get that far.”

Cullen frowned, “it is also upon my shoulders as I told her to go ahead.”

“No, it is upon _my_ shoulders for pushing beyond my mana reserves,” Moira pushed herself up.  She grunted under her breath as her muscles strained a bit.  “Cullen, I…we need to talk.”

He agreed as he asked her if she could stand.  She stood with a little effort.  Naren told her to take time to rest before she came back to help.  Moira walked in silence with Cullen.  The sun had set long ago as the cold autumn breeze chilled her to the bones.  The warmth that emanated from within Cullen’s cabin was welcoming to say the least.  She stopped by the entryway as Cullen removed his boots and set them on their rack.  She stood, arms wrapped around herself, watching as he moved about his home.  When he noticed she hadn’t moved, he regarded her with a curious downturn of his lips.

“Moira, you know you’re welcome in my home.  Please, make yourself comfortable.”

Moira took a deep breath, “Caidum Levenshire served at my Circle.  He was the templar I told you I had killed.”

Cullen stilled his motions.  He watched her closely as she gnawed upon her bottom lip.  He cleared his throat, straightening his back, “all right.  I had…wondered what that bit was about.  If you believed you killed him, how is he alive?  What…what happened between you two?”

“…I wasn’t very popular among the mages.  We simply didn’t see eye to eye on just about…well, everything.  Many of them believed the Maker to be a fantasy.  It was…it was one of the other mages that accused me of blood magic.  To Caidum.  He…took me to my _punishment_.  I begged and pleaded for him to listen.  He listened, but then…he…he told me that he wouldn’t say a word if I…” Moira choked on her words, the tears of hate and loathing carving paths down her cheeks.  “If I bent over for him.  I was terrified, I didn’t know what he meant.  And so I—I did.  And then everything happened so fast.  I tried to scream out for help, but he cast a silence over me that knocked the wind from my lungs.  It…it didn’t stop there.  I tried to stay as far from him as possible.  But it was in vain.  He found me.  Every.  Fucking.  Time.”

Cullen’s fists clenched and unclenched as she spoke.  She watched his jaw working and his eyes darkening. 

“I wasn’t part of the revolt.  I had planned to take advantage of the chaos once the mages started their upheaval.  But he found me.  He’d heard the rumor and was going to…force it out of me.  I’d had enough.  I…I snapped.  I grabbed his dagger while he pinned me and I…I shoved him back and stabbed him.  It was deep and he was bleeding so much.  He was near a window and I…I didn’t think.  I felt so much anger, hatred, and…and desire to see him bleed that I charged him.  I meant to stab him again.  But he caught my wrist.  He threw me aside.  I hit the floor and I just jumped back up and kicked him.  With everything I had.  And he…he stumbled back.  The glass shattered and he…he fell.  I didn’t look out the window.  I didn’t dare linger.  I heard the screams and shouts of the fighting further in and I ran.  I ran until I couldn’t run any longer.  I don’t even remember how I got away, just that I did.  I remember ripping my robes off and lifting some oversized clothes from a drying line.  That’s…that’s how I came to be _this_.”

A heavy weight lifted and pressed down on her at once.  She waited with baited breath for Cullen to react.  If he threw her out, she would leave.  It was that simple.  And yet…it wasn’t.  Cullen didn’t speak.  He stepped around the side table and moved to her.  He didn’t pause before her but instead, he pulled her against him.  His arms enveloped her as he embraced her tightly.  She blinked, looking up at the ceiling. 

“Maker…Moira I…there are no words.” He murmured against her hair.  She closed her eyes, understanding.  But he surprised her, “I am so sorry that _he_ is here.  Had I known…”

“How could you have known?” She scoffed, pulling back to look into his face.  “I never told you.  You are no clairvoyant as far as I know.  So _how_ could you _possibly_ have known?  Cullen, you…I know you believe me.  And I _am_ telling the truth.  But you should hear his side too before you—”

“If I so much as look upon him now, I _will_ kill him, Moira.” Cullen’s tone was filled with dark promise.  “I cannot be unbiased in this.  It is far beyond my capacity now.”

“Cullen, you’re the leader here.  You _must_ remain—”

“Not when it comes to you!”

Moira studied his eyes, his face.  His conviction was strong.  She reached up to cup his face.  She ran her fingers over his brows, cheeks, jaw, lips…

“I had…I had returned to also tell you that…my papa—he’s gone.  He succumbed to his fate and…he’s with the Maker now.”

Cullen leaned down to press his brow to hers, “and you returned to see the monster of your past.  Maker, but I am beyond regretful.  I know there was nothing I could have done.  But that will never stop me from being angry with this whole situation.”

“What…what should we do?”

“…I will inform Rylen to…speak with that ingrate.  Either way, he will be leaving this place.  Even were I not aware of his past grievances, his behavior…was absolutely intolerable.  To attack blindly after being told not to…”

“You realize the irony in that statement, don’t you?  Wasn’t I doing the same?  Maker, I can’t believe I’m arguing on that blighter’s behalf…” Moira growled, stepping back to run her hands over her face. 

“From what I saw, you were defending yourself.”

“I drew my weapon first, Cullen!”

“Why are you fighting me on this?!”

“Because _you are better than this!!  You are above this petty bullshit!”_ Moira bit back, “ _You_ are _fair_ and _just,_ Cullen!  It is why everyone follows you!!  It is one of the many reasons I love you!”  Cullen stared at her, a lopsided smile growing on his face.  She frowned back at him, “what in the Maker’s name are you smiling at?!  That was a serious statement!”

“You love me, then?” He asked, stepping closer to her.

Moira felt her heart skip.  Oh.  She’d said that, didn’t she?  Whoops.  So much for the right timing.  “I, er, well…I mean…”

Cullen leaned down so that his lips brushed hers.  “Moira…”

“Y—yes?” She gulped.

“I happen to find myself in love with you as well.”

Moira was about to ask him if he was sure when he pressed his lips to hers.  His mouth was soft, asking.  She slanted her lips fully against his and dug her fingers into his shirt fabric.  She pulled him down closer to her as she raised onto her toes.  His arms pulled her body tightly to his own.  She moaned, despite herself at the feeling of his hard planes and body flush with her own softer curves.  He pulled back, nipping her lip. 

“As much as I _really_ want to continue this…it feels…like bad timing,” Cullen kissed her nose affectionately. 

Moira breathed out and nodded, “you’re right.  But, Maker…I _want you_.”

Cullen made a regretful sound, pulling a bit further away with effort.  “You really make it very difficult to do the right thing when you say that, Moira…”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“You know, I don’t believe that for a bloody second,” he chuckled.

“I’m aware,” she smiled and stepping back to give him extra room.  They took a moment to breathe without pressing anything further.  Cullen’s frown resurfaced, however.  Tilting her head, Moira asked, “what are you thinking?”

Cullen crossed his arms almost petulantly, “I understand your sentiments regarding Ser Levenshire.  But I cannot, in good conscience, allow him to remain here.”

“At least _hear_ his side.  Even if it comes through Rylen.  _I_ can’t be the reason you don’t handle this situation objectively.”

He looked less than pleased with her statement but nodded curtly all the same.  Moira released a breath she’d held despite herself.  He noticed.  Of course he noticed.  This man was infuriatingly attentive.  Moira laughed softly, shaking her head at him. 

“What?”

“You…your brow creases when you’re trying to figure something out.  Like why I was holding my breath.”

He smiled sheepishly, “is that such a bad thing?  To know I pay close attention to certain details?”

“I never said it was _bad_.”

“True,” he relented.  An awkward silence settled over us, “a-are you hungry?”

“Maker, yes.”

He nodded, seeming pleased to have something to busy himself with.  Another reason Moira adored him.  She watched him as he moved about his small kitchen.  Biting her lip, she shuffled over to help him.  He bumped her with his side. 

“No you don’t.  You’re going to let _me_ cook for _you_ this time.”

“Bossy, aren’t we?”

“Very,” he grinned back.

Moira held her hands up in surrender and stepped back.  She moved to toe off her boots at the entryway.  She strode to the couch and tucked herself onto it comfortably.  She leaned her head on her hand.  Her legs curled up to the side of her as she leaned onto the elbow that held her head up.  The arm of the couch was comfy enough to lean fully into.  She noted the fire was out.  Flicking her hand, she threw a small ball of fire into the fireplace and watched as the logs caught with ease under her magic.  The rustic simplicity of her surroundings right then was something she found herself desiring.  The sounds of Cullen cooking and moving about.  A fire warming inside the hearth.  Pup settling down on his little doggy bed.  Her socked feet tucked up on a comfy couch. 

She had never dared to dream of such a life.  Not even once upon the dreams of the tiny little girl.  To think she’d wanted to be a templar all those long years ago.  Now she sat here in the home of a very reputable former templar; a mage and a woman in love.  How had she found her way into this place?  Into this life?  Swallowing thickly, she recalled her father’s face from when she was a child.  The way he’d looked upon her mother so adoringly.  So lovingly.  The sun, moon, and starts set in Heliana’s eyes according to Greagoir.  Turning to peer back at Cullen’s back, Moira wondered.  Did he look at her that way too?  Had she never noticed before? 

He turned, sliding some meat onto a wooden plate.  His profile was lit in the warm lighting throughout the small home.  Her heart swelled.  He glanced her way as though sensing her gaze.  His entire face warmed with such a beautiful smile just for her.  How could she have never seen it before?  That slightly crooked lift to his lips.  The way his eyes crinkled just so; the gentleness in his gaze.  It was like she was finally seeing what she’d been missing all along.  She smiled back, feeling her own heart radiating that unique feeling that she felt _only_ for him.  The speeding of her pulse, the breathlessness, the tingle in her belly…it was all because of him.  She could be so foolish.  She had fallen for this man the moment she laid eyes upon him; she just hadn’t known it yet. 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case I missed any, Levenshire's name was ORIGINALLY to be Calum. But it was a bit too close to Cullen so I changed it to Caidum at the last minute. So if there were any Calum's left, please just ignore it. It's really Caidum and I tried to change them all. /shrug
> 
> This is one of my favorite chapters I wrote. I love it because Moira is trying SO HARD to make sure Cullen doesn't slip into prejudice and not be fair in his judging. What she doesn't get though is that...what man can be fully objective when his love was threatened or even knowing what was done to her before? I mean, come on.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty**   
**Please Have Mercy on Me**

Maker but that smile could undo him.  He almost forgot what he was doing when he caught her gaze.  Her lovely blue-purple eyes were trained upon him.  Studying him intently.  He couldn’t help but to smile at the beauty gracing his couch.  Maker, he was a lucky bastard.  This woman loved _him_?  The way the firelight beside her caught the hints of reddish brunette in her hair; the way the glow brought out a warmth in her face was breathtaking.  And then she smiled back.  His heart and lungs ceased to function.  In the sight of such a blessing, he was completely helpless.  Made him feel lost and if he were honest…he loved it.  This feeling was beyond anything he knew he deserved.  But damn him if he was not planning to fight for this gracious gift.  The love of a woman like Moira was far more than he had ever hoped for. 

Without knowing where it came from, the mental image of a few younglings with the eyes of this woman and his curls running amuck flit over him.  Pup galloping with the small rascals as they giggled and played.  A longing he had no idea he’d ever truly desired settled within him.  This was the woman he wanted to wed.  The woman he wanted to fill with his babe.  The one he would die to protect and give everything to love until the day he drew his last breath.  He cleared his throat and turned back to his task.  Breaking that spell had been the hardest thing he’d ever had to do.  He finished dishing up their meals.  He walked over to her, offering her one of the plates.  She took it gratefully.  He sank down beside her and they ate in companionable silence. 

After he finished his meal, he set his plate down on the small tea table.  Pup trotted over and lapped up the remains from the plate.  Moira also followed suit afterwards.  Once the mabari was satisfied, he moved to where Moira sat and plopped his large head in her lap.  She giggled and lavished attention upon the four-legged beast.  Cullen snorted at the mabari.  Their little bubble burst with a knock at the door.  Reality was literally calling upon them.  With a sigh, Cullen rose and stepped around the couch.  He snagged his boots and called out over his shoulder to Moira that he’d be back soon.  He stepped outside, not allowing Rylen to enter his cabin.  It was not out of malice; but out of the need to protect Moira from whatever Rylen had to say about a certain disgusting excuse for a human being.  Tugging his boots on, he nodded for Rylen to follow him. 

Rylen didn’t question this even once.  After they were a distance from the cabin, Cullen turned to Rylen.  Rylen already knew what Cullen wanted to know.  It was why the man was Cullen’s right-hand-man and one of his closest friends.

“I questioned the fecker.”

“And?”

Rylen’s eyes were dark with fury, “he’s bloody fecking _proud_ of his actions.  Wouldn’t stop calling Moira a whore and a slew of other nasty things I wouldn’t even call my enemy.  As for what he claims, he says she’s a blood mage.  That she practiced it in the Circle and seduced him to keep him silent.  Then he says she stabbed him and threw him out a window with the aid of demons she’d summoned.”

Cullen’s jaw clenched so tightly he wouldn’t have been a bit surprised if he chipped a tooth.  “He’s lying.  She never seduced him…he took liberties that were never his to take.”

Rylen made a sound low in his throat, “now I feel even better about breaking his Maker-damned jaw.”

“You broke his jaw?” Cullen’s eyes grew larger before he barked out a laugh. 

“Usually I would think that’d be a questionable action.  Now I’m rather pleased with myself,” Rylen shifted, kicking a bit of dust with his boots.  “How’s Moira?  Is she…all right?”

Cullen sighed, running a hand through his hair.  “Yes?  No?  She is strong, I can definitely say that much.  She told me…a lot, Ry.  She begged me to hear _his_ fucking side.  She told me that she needed me to stay objective in this matter.  That I needed to maintain true judgment in this.”

Rylen smiled, “she’s one helluva good lass, Cul.”

“I know…”

“If you let her go, you’ll be the biggest damned fool I ever saw.”

Cullen smirked, “now that _would_ be stupid, wouldn’t it?  Especially after she told me she loved me.”

“…aye?!”

Cullen chuckled, feeling a little blush rise on his cheeks.  “Yes.”

“About bloody damn time!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” Cullen dropped his arms and glowered at his friend.

“That _everyone’s_ been betting on when you two would _finally_ confess you’re both batty about one another!”

“That’s—” Cullen stopped, shaking his head.  With an eyeroll, he waved dismissively.  “There’s no point trying to deny it, knowing you.”

“What do you want me to do about arsebiscuit?”

“Don’t ask me that,” Cullen ground out, “I would gut him like the swine he is if I dared to look upon him.”

“You’re leaving the decision up to _me_?”

“I think it best, as you are a bit more removed emotionally than I.”

Rylen snorted, “you think _any_ of us are removed emotionally?  That’s almost comical.  There’s not a soul here, besides that blasted Orlesian prick, that wouldn’t love to beat the ever-loving shite out of Levenshire.  Let alone kill him.”

“Rylen, please…”

“Say no more, mate.  I’ll take care of it.”

“Thank you,” Cullen breathed.  He clapped his friend on the shoulder.  He turned to trudge back to his cabin.  He kicked the dust from his boots before he stepped inside.  He paused at the sight before him.  Moira had curled up on the floor with Pup.  She was on her side, her knees up and Pup’s head between her face and her knees.  Her right arm was draped over the dog’s neck.  Her face was smoothed with sleep.  Her breathing even.  He closed the door and smiled.  Tugging his boots off and setting them aside, he shuffled over to her.  He ruffled Pup’s head.  Pup opened his eyes sleepily.  Cullen nodded to the large beast, “good boy, Pup.”

Pup chuffed and settled back.  Cullen very carefully extracted Moira from around Pup.  He lifted her into his arms.  She shifted and sighed in her sleep, nestling her face against his neck.  He froze for a second, worried he’d woken her.  When she didn’t make any more movements or sounds of waking, he released his breath in measures.  He mused over how light she felt in his arms.  Even her limp, dead-weight of sleep was hardly a strain for him.  He pushed his bedroom door open and walked inside.  He settled her on his bed and tucked the bedding snugly around her.  He bent to kiss her sleeping brow. 

“Night, love…”

He left her then so that she could properly rest.  He cleaned up from his cooking project from earlier.  Once his kitchen was clean, the dishes washed, and his messy papers strewn all about straightened up, he set to extinguishing all the lanterns.  The fire in the hearth continued to glow.  He paused, trying to recall when he’d lit it.  An amused chuckle bubbled out of him.  Moira.  She must have lit it.  Hence why it continued burning easily with no upkeep.  He pulled the protective grate over to block it off.  The nights were getting colder anyhow.  Though it hardly bothered him, the thought of Moira shivering in his home left him feeling rather unhappy.  That wouldn’t do.  He’d have to make sure she had a warm house to wander about and a comfortable bed to settle into every night.  He was still crouched before the fireplace.  He pried himself from the spot with a muted grunt.  His shirt was tugged over his head as he walked to his bedroom.  Tossing it into the hamper beside the door, he leaned in the doorway to watch the beauty in his bed.  She had rolled over, her hand tucked under her chin.  Her mouth was parted slightly.  She had her knees tucked up toward her chest again.  He absorbed every detail of her face and form. 

She shifted and sighed.  The sound was beyond endearing.  He allowed himself a quiet chortle.  So, she was sleep-sigher.  He could live with that.  He pushed from the frame and padded over to the bed.  He removed his socks.  He was the type who typically slept nude.  But he couldn’t imagine she’d awake too pleased to find a naked man beside her.  Then again, maybe she would.  No.  He would not put her in that situation.  He slid into bed beside her.  He no more than tucked the bedding around himself before she had shifted in her sleep to snuggle into his side.  He more than happily wrapped his arm around her.  She nestled more firmly into him.  Another little sigh.  Maker, he could _really_ get used to this.  He fell asleep within a few minutes. 

_He was there again.  The cage zinging with that primal, evil, dark, and vicious mana.  His sword before him, the words of a desperate man fell from his lips.  The pleas, the prayers, the curses.  They bled into each other over and over again.  And then she was there again.  He tried; Maker he **tried** to block her out.  She wasn’t real.  It wasn’t real.  But then Solana Amell was stroking his face again.  Purring in that way that made his blood race.  He cried.  The sobs were of a broken man.  He was no warrior here.  He was a sniveling little boy with no idea what the void he’d signed up for.  _

_She moved her body in a way that was telling of her intentions for him.  She slid the robes from her pale body to pool at her feet.  Laid bare before him, she trailed her hands over her flesh.  He hung his head further, trying to recall the Chant he should have known by heart.  He fumbled his words.  She was touching him, stroking him, cajoling him… He sobbed again.  Why?  Maker, why?  Why didn’t they just **kill** him already!?  Why him!?  Why **her**?!  _

_“Cullen…”_

_He shook his head, “no!”_

_“Cullen…” She was firmer now._

_He struck out at her then, grabbing her wrists and shoving her back from him.  “NO!” He roared._

_“Cullen!  Wake up!”_

_His confusion rushed him.  What?  Wake up?  What was this?  That…no…that wasn’t right.  Wasn’t it?_

_“CULLEN!”_

He woke suddenly with a jolt.  He blinked his sleep-fogged eyes.  His vision sharpened and he swore colorfully as he leapt from his bed as though he’d been shocked.  He pressed his back into the dresser.  Eyes wild and terrified.  Moira slowly pushed to sit and watched him closely.  She didn’t look afraid.  Why wasn’t she fucking scared?!  Why wasn’t she screaming at him!?  Maker!  What had he done?!  What had he _done_?! 

“Cullen…?”

He trembled, shaking his head, “no…I…Moira…I…”

She crawled to the end of the bed.  He could see the reddening marks on her wrists.  He’d grabbed her in his sleep.  His nightmare far too real for him to fight.  Coming to, holding her down…what kind of a monster was he?  He deserved her hatred.  Her ire.  He deserved to be hit.  Repeatedly.  Her face melted then, she looked ready to cry.  He watched her like a trapped animal as she slowly climbed down from the bed.  She approached him with her hands up as though to keep _him_ from running.  Maybe he _was_ thinking of running.  His muscles ached from how tensely he held them. 

“D—don’t—” He tried but the words died in his throat. 

Moira stopped before him, slowly touching his chest.  He flinched and she pulled away.  No!  She couldn’t think her touch wasn’t wanted!  But how could tell her it wasn’t for…for…Maker, why couldn’t he think straight?  Those stunning eyes searched him until she found something there.  Her hands returned and he didn’t flinch this time.  She stepped into him, pressing her body against his.  Her head rested against his chest, ear over his heart.

“You’re here.  You’re right _here with me_ , Cullen…come back home.”

Her voice was only a whisper, but it was enough.  It broke him.  He crumpled then.  Arms banded around her and crushed her painfully close.  He felt the tears scorch his cheeks.  It had been so long since he’d suffered that nightmare.  And to wake up like _that_?  How could she let him hold her?  But she did.  She even began to lightly rock them back and forth.  Her smaller arms wrapped around him in return.  As he let himself come back to reality, he noticed she’d been humming softly.  He didn’t recognize the tune.  But it was soothing.  Like a balm to his soul.  He breathed in her scent and held onto the warmth she pressed into him.  She was the breath his lungs screamed to take in. 

“I—Maker, Moira…I—I’m so sorry—”

“Hush…” She shifted only enough to kiss his chest, “there’s nothing to forgive.”

“I hurt you,” he argued, hating himself.

“You didn’t hurt me, Cullen.  Not even close.”

“Your wrists—”

“Will be just fine.”

“…Moira, you cannot just brush this aside.  It—I shouldn’t—“ he growled at his inability to put his thoughts into words. 

She pulled enough away to look up into his eyes.  “Don’t think I don’t know what post-traumatic stress looks like.”

He looked into those eyes before he searched for her wrists.  She saw his gaze shift and lifted them for him to examine.  He gently guided her hands up so that he could really study what he’d done.  There was nothing left to see.  He looked at her askance. 

“Told you…”

“You healed them,” his voice came out accusing. 

“And you didn’t really hurt me.  I’ve had so much worse, trust me.  Even if you _had_ , it wouldn’t have been conscious on your part.  You lived through something that killed many and would have completely broken others.  I cannot, _will not_ hold a nightmare and post-traumatic stress against you.  Ever.  Do you hear me?  Let me be here.  Let me soothe your soul.  You’ve already given so much of yourself to everyone and everything.  It’s time you let someone give you something in return.”

Cullen stared at her.  Feelings beyond words or even label washed over him in a tidal wave.  He did the only thing that seemed _right_ in that moment.  Cullen leaned down and molded his lips to hers.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My bestie is moving to LA, far, far from me. So I didn't get an update done because I needed to give her a proper send-off yesterday. I didn't forget about you!


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty-One**   
**When I’m Falling Apart**

When Cullen bent to mold his mouth to hers, Moira melted.  There was zero hesitation.  She slid her hands up his chest and looped her arms around his shoulders.  Their height difference made her lift up onto her toes and he to stoop over her.  She eagerly parted her lips to him.  Their tongues swirled and battled in an age-old battle.  Neither desiring to win nor lose.  His hands slid down to cup where her thighs met her backside.  He lifted her and took two large strides to sit her on his bed.  She withdrew her right hand from him to yank the corset strings of her vest open.  She shrugged out of the corseted piece of clothing, sending it sailing across the room.  Cullen’s hands took over, sliding her soft tunic up over her head.  With the vest as tight and restricting as it was, she never had use for a breast band as well.  She had to admit that she was _very_ happy for that habit.  It was worth every second of the look that crossed his face.  She returned to his lips.  He greedily drank down her kisses.  A soft moan pushed past her throat as she dragged her fingertips down his chest and over his defined abs.  Maker, but was the man sculpted like a statue of sin.  Her fingers dropped to the laces at the front of his breeches  She had them open in seconds.

Cullen chuckled against her lips, murmuring, “a bit eager, are we?”

“More than a bit,” she purred back, thoroughly enjoying the way he hissed through his teeth. 

“In that case,” he grasped her hips, yanking.  She yelped, falling back onto his bed as he tugged her leggings down firmly.  Moira lifted her lower body so that he could finish stripping her bare.  He even hooked his fingers in her socks as he removed the articles.  She was completely naked before his eyes. 

Biting her bottom lip, she pushed up onto her elbows.  Cullen smoothed his hands up her legs from her ankles to her calves, her thighs, hips, sides, and lastly over the outside edge of her breasts.  He knelt on the chest at the end of his bed.  His body leaning over hers as he nipped at her mouth.  She dug her fingers into his curls, loosening them from the pomade he used to keep the riotous spirals under control.  He teased her with nips and nibbled all around her jaw; always skirting past her lips.  She grew irritated and lunged for his lips.  His soft laughter tickled her mouth.  The kiss was heated and made her toes curl.  His hands wandered openly over her body.  His right hand palmed her left breast as his left slid down to her right hip.  He trailed open mouthed kisses from her lips down her jaw, neck.  He left a love-mark upon her collarbone before he continued to make his journey down her body.  His tongue was like a new form of torture. 

Moira arched into his devious caresses.  The swirl of that wicked tongue around her nipples preceded the scrape of teeth and suction.  Every suckle and flick of his slick muscle made her squirm and cry.  She was thoroughly convinced he was made by the Maker to unravel every part of her being.  His hands slid over the inside of her thighs, parting her enough to wedge his shoulders.  Her breath hitched as his mouth continued the trail down, down, down.  The fan of his breath over her slickened center had her trembling in anticipation.  She opened her mouth to say something, but whatever she had though to say was lost the moment his tongue dragged up her seam.  A moan tumbled from her instead.  He sealed his lips to her clit.  He hollowed his cheeks and swirled his tongue at the same moment.  Throwing her head back, Moira cried loudly.  Her hands fisted the bedding underneath her.  Breaths came quicker and breathier to her.  Two fingers slipped into her.  Moira gasped; unable to keep her hips from writhing under his ministrations.  He groaned indecently. 

“C—Cullen…” His name was a breathless prayer she repeated over and over again.  Her body began to tighten around his pistoning fingers. 

His spoke directly into her folds, “come for me, love.”  She moaned as her body did as he bade.  Her body bowed as her end rushed over her.  Cullen lapped up her release before he sat back, still moving his fingers inside her folds.  “That’s an image I’m never going to forget,” his lips were quirked into that damnable sexy smirk of his. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh _yeah_.” He reiterated, sliding up her body.  Moira slid backward toward the pillows.  It made his approach seem ever more like that of a predator stalking his prey. 

Her back pressed into the headboard and she stilled.  He climbed over her, settling himself against her.  Then with a rather devious look, he rolled over.  He pulled her with him.  Moira giggled, throwing her left leg over his hips to straddle him.  Cullen made sound low in his throat.  His hands slid up her sides and back to settle on her hips.  Moira shifted to hover over him.  His gaze sharpened upon her.  The tell-tale twitch of his fingers digging into her flesh a little more was encouragement enough.  Moira set her hands on his chest, leaning forward to return the favor earlier.  Teasing him with her lips ghosting over his.  He sought her mouth and she relented, sighing into his kiss.  Her left hand slid down a bit behind where she hovered to wrap around his generous length.  She pumped his shaft experimentally.  The sharp inhale through his nose told her how sensitive he already was.  Not that she needed anymore evidence.  He was hard and heavy in her small hand.  She moaned softly at the feeling of his width.  She withdrew from his lips and sat back up. 

She lined his tip up with her slick folds and descended.  She deliberately only sank inch by glorious inch.  Cullen’s jaw was clenched tightly as he fought to restrain himself from taking control.  A teasing smile lit up her face.  The feeling of being stretched _just right_ and filled was enough to make her hum in satisfaction.  Maker when did she last sleep with a man she _actually_ _wanted_ to be ravished by?  The answer to that question was a rather unsavory one.  She fully seated herself, panting lightly.  Cullen’s muscles were taught and coiled.  She rotated her hips, breath hitching at the sensation.  Cullen grunted and his hands twitched again.  Sliding herself up before impaling herself upon his length again; Moira choked on a moan. 

“Moira,” he groaned, sweat beading on his brow. 

She licked her lips and began to rise and fall just a bit quicker.  She really wanted to know what it would take before his control broke.  Because, to be honest, she _needed_ to feel him lose control.  She ran her hands up her body as she rocked on him.  His answering sound was borderline pained.  He swallowed thickly.  His amber eyes were glued to every bit of her he could watch at once.  His chest rose and fell in succession with his quicker breathing.  She raised up so that he was _just barely_ still inside her and paused.  His gaze snapped to her face.  She grinned back at him knowingly.  There.  He growled right before her world shifted so quickly she hardly realized he’d moved.  She was pinned under him in the bat of an eye.  He held her wrists down on either side of her head.  His narrowed gaze was full of heated accusation. 

“You’re teasing me,” he grumbled, voice low with husky lust. 

“I am,” she admitted without batting an eyelash, “I want to know what it’s like to tempt the Lion of Ferelden.”

He lowered so that his lips brushed the shell of her ear when he spoke, “what makes you think you haven’t been tempting this lion since the moment he laid eyes upon you?  That sexy little sway your hips have when you walk, that snarky little smirk that drives me insane, your damnable giggle that makes me hard just from hearing it…”

Moira whimpered, but not from fear.  Far from it.  She arched her back and tried to roll her hips to take him back into her.  He clucked his tongue at her.

“Now, now, Moira,” he nipped her earlobe, “you wanted to know what it was like to _tempt_ me.  Who am I to deny my lady what she _desires_?”

He pushed into her slowly, so fucking slowly.  When he withdrew, it was so unhurried that she felt _every damn vein_ and detail of his cock.  She suddenly regretted making _him_ suffer like this.  It really was torment.  The taste of delicious friction only to be denied it?  That _was_ rather cruel.  She swallowed her pride.

“Cullen, please—”

His deep chuckle made her shiver, “what’s this now?  Are you begging for me to fuck you?”

“Yes!”

“Can’t take your own medicine, can you?”

“No,” she breathed, “I really, _really_ can’t.”

He flexed his hips, just the tiniest bit more of his member pushed into her.  “Aw, I think you’re not giving yourself enough credit.  Surely your endurance is better than that?””

“It’s not!”

“No?”

“NO!”

“Hm…” he pushed a bit further into her.  Moira moaned and arched.  She hooked her legs around his hips in an attempt to push him forward more.  He locked himself in place.  She made a sound of exasperation.  He grinned down at her, only fueling her frustration.  She relaxed her back, pouting up at him.  She was about to call him something unkind when he thrust fully into her.  She gasped loudly at the sudden movement.  He pulled back and surged forth again.  She bit her lip to keep from making _too_ much noise. 

He released her wrists and shifted to hook her thighs over his forearms.  Moira clapped her arm over her mouth to muffle the loud, obscene cry the new angle brought out of her.  A particularly deep and slightly rough thrust made her moan so loudly she was afraid she couldn’t stifle it at all. 

“Moira…”

“Y—yes?” She managed, but barely before she covered the next moan. 

“Un—uncover your mouth.”

“B—but—” she paused before trying again, “I—I’ll be too loud!”

He laughed, shaking his head, “why are you so afraid of that?”

“I—it’s not proper?  P—people might hear me?”

He paused, staring at her.  “Who cares?”

She stared up at him, blinking.  He sighed at the confused look on her face. 

“Moira, I _want_ to hear you.  Even if someone _does_ hear you, it will only reaffirm their suspicions anyway.  Whoever told you it’s not _proper_ to make noise during sex?”

Moira turned her face away, blushing but feeling shamed non-the-less.  She’d always had to be muffled.  Even when she cried from pain and not pleasure.  Even after leaving the circle, it was a habit she had a hard time shaking.  “I—it just… _was_.”

Cullen turned her face so that she could look at him.  “Please don’t be proper with me then.” 

“I’m sorry, I’m killing the mood, aren’t I?’

Cullen snorted, rotating his hips.  “Do I _seem_ disinterested now?”

Moira giggled as she felt his _still_ hard member deep inside her.  “No.”

“Then shall we?”

“Mm, yes…we shall.”

Cullen moved so that he was leaning more over her.  His left arm held him up beside her shoulder while his right hand guided her left knee up toward her chest.  “Tell me if this gets uncomfortable at any point.”

She nodded at him.  He began to move and Moira’s eyes fluttered.  “Ohhh…Maker…”

The upper part of his shaft rubbed _just right_ on her sensitized clit while his length penetrated her.  The sliding of his body inside of her was beyond description.  She looped her right arm up over his shoulder and grasped a healthy handful of his firm arse with her left hand.  Cullen made a low, guttural sound when she squeezed his flesh as she rocked her hips to match his thrusts.  He picked up his pace.  The sounds of flesh slapping began to fill the bedroom.  Moira still struggled with not muffling her sounds of pleasure but she _tried.  For him._ Moira needed more.  She must have voiced her needs aloud because Cullen’s thrusting hips began to pound into her with more force.  Her head fell back, exposing her neck. 

She cried his name loudly as he hit the sweet spot.  Cullen clued in and angled himself so that he hit that perfect little spot every time he surged forward into her.  The sounds she made grew in volume and intensity.  Cullen dipped his head to suckle and nibble along her throat.  She felt the signs come upon her that told her that she was oh-so-close.  Her legs were shaking.  Sensing her nearness, Cullen slammed and ground his hips against her.  Moira’s mouth fell open on a silent scream as her body attempted to milk him for all he was worth.  Cullen continued to buck into her wildly for several long moments.  It only made her orgasm stretch even further. 

When he shouted her name brokenly, moving less rhythmically then, Moira knew he was coming.  He stilled for a moment as his body spent itself within her.  She felt his seed fill her completely and even leak out around where they were joined.  She moaned low in her throat.  No man had ever spilled his seed within her before.  It was surreal and honestly?  It was very fitting.  Moira didn’t even feel anything beyond pleased and completely sated.  Not even a tremor of apprehension touched her. 

Cullen collapsed gently atop her.  Moira wrapped her body around him as much as she possibly could.  Cradling his head to her breast.  She kissed his sweat slicked brow as they laid in the afterglow of their lovemaking; catching their breath together.  A small smile formed on her lips as she held her love close.  When she caught her breath, she began to hum softly for him.  Cullen smiled lazily as he listened to her.  Her fingers raked through his curls lovingly.  The way some of them fell over his forehead was enticing.  The feel of their still joined bodies just laying together in the warmth was beyond comforting.  Moira kissed the crown of his head, his brow, his nose and his temple.  While her right hand continued to massage and card through his hair; her left hand slid down to gently rub his back with a bit of pressure.  She could feel the tension in his muscles from all his stress began to work free.  Between the relaxation after sexual release and her massaging hand, he was turning to putty in her arms.  To say she _really_ loved the knowledge that _she_ of all people had _the_ Lion of Ferelden as a heap of lax muscle in _her_ arms was an ego boost…would be a grave understatement.  Moira closed her eyes to just revel in his wonderful company.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They FINALLY made it to bed! Without clothing! Lol. 
> 
> Also, I really hope all the Floridians out there are safe and stay so. But...come on, I can't be the only one amused that they named the hurricane Dorian? Like our fantastic, fabulous magister WOULDN'T literally throw a colossal hissy fit because someone didn't like his moustache?


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty-Two**   
**You’ll Find Love**

A few hours dragged by before either tried to move.  Cullen had rolled over at some point.  Moira had draped her shapely, nude leg over his hips.  Her arm was thrown over his chest as well.  He ran his right hand over her smooth skin.  At first, after he’d collapsed atop her, he’d worried that maybe he should have asked before finishing inside of her sweet body.  However, the way she hadn’t let him withdraw from her until he was too soft to stay in place made him a bit more confident.  The afternoon lazily drew upon them.  Cullen was actually rather surprised they hadn’t been disturbed yet.  _Pleasantly_ surprised.  Moira shifted beside him.  She leaned up on her elbow.

“I could really use a bath.”

Cullen smirked at her as his eyes roamed her naked body shamelessly.  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Her laugh made his smirk morph into a grin.  She leaned over and kissed him.  It was meant to be chaste but it quickly took on a very different approach.  He rolled over, pinning her back to his mattress.  He loved the taste of her.  Maker, he would never be able to get enough of her.  The kiss trailed off into small love nips before he simply hovered over her. 

“I love you,” he found himself saying.

Her eyes lit up with a sparkle that he knew was just for him, “and I you, Cullen.”

“I should go draw that bath for you…”

“You have a bathing room?”

A smug grin tugged at his lips, “I do.  One of the perks of being a so-called _leader_ , I suppose.”

“Well, I chose the right man to fall in love with!”

Cullen laughed, “hey now!  My bathing room is _not_ usually how I woo the ladies!”

“Oh?  And how _do_ you woo the ladies?”

“With my awkward, fumbling attempts at flirting?”

Moira snorted out a giggle that made an answering chuckle come from Cullen.  He slid back and rolled from the bed.  Moira sighed in contented bliss before she moved to sit up.  He rounded the bed to her side.  She looked up at him askance as he stepped up.  He bent to lift her into his arms bridal style.  She blushed adorably and ducked her chin to hide it as best she could.  He was quite proud that he could instill such bashfulness and also bold sexual desire out of this woman.  He carried her through the house, ignoring Pup’s whine for food.  At the back of the cabin were two doors.  One was a lavatory, the second his bathing room.  He opened the second one and stepped inside.  He set Moira down on her feet.  She stepped to the side as he moved to pump the rune-heated water into the soaking basin. 

He glanced over at her; he meant to ask her how hot she preferred her bath water.  But he paused in his inquiry as he watched the way her eyes studied his every movement.  A bit of self-consciousness washed over him.  Was she staring at his scars?  Did they…displease her?  He averted his gaze, trying to swallow the urge to cover them from her view. 

“I swear the Maker carved you out of every woman’s sexual fantasy.”

Cullen’s hand slipped and he bashed his elbow on the basin.  With a sharp curse, he stood and grabbed his abused elbow.  Moira gasped and rushed to him, reaching over to examine his stupid injury.  His cheeks were aflame.  That…that was a statement he’d yet to ever hear. 

“Are you all right?” She fussed over him.

Cullen grumbled, “just a bloody bump.  That’s all.”

“I’m sorry, I…it just…kind of blurted out…” Moira was blushing as well. 

He shook his head, “no, no.  You…I mean…”

“Cullen?”

“Yes?” He grimaced.

Moira snickered, placing her forehead against his chest.  “Don’t ever change.”

He coughed out a laugh, “right.  I’ll keep that in mind.”

The bath was a bit easier to draw after that.  Moira tested the water and approved of the heat.  To his surprise, she liked baths a bit on the hot side.  She stepped into the basin with a sigh and sank into the steaming water.  Cullen planned to use a wet cloth to bathe himself but she beckoned him to join her.  He weighed his choices and found that…he would be an idiot to say no to a naked, wet woman pressed against him.  He slid in behind her and relaxed as she leaned her back against his chest.  She was so tiny.  He could easily wrap himself around her without any effort on his part.  She was petite, yes, but her curves were still luscious.  He couldn’t help himself.  His hands followed his thoughts, tracing her curves.  She leaned her head back and smiled up at him.  It was a lovely look.  How had he been so lucky?  Flawed as he was…she still seemed to find him as attractive as he found her. 

“What do you need to get done today?  I’ll help you since _I’m_ kind of the reason you’re behind…”

Cullen smiled and shook his head.  “Well, considering I finished fixing that supply cart a week after you arrived…”

She sat up and turned to look at him.  Her eyes were wide but she was fighting hard not to laugh.  “You finished it but didn’t tell me?!  You fiend!”

“Well, I had to find a way to keep you here, didn’t I?”

She snorted, rolling her eyes as she settled back against him.  “Uh-huh…”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

“…a little bit.”

“I do need to speak with Rylen about a few items of concern,” he sighed, laying his head back against the basin. 

She hummed and shifted so that her side was against his chest, drawing her knees up.  “I don’t think Naren’s going to let me anywhere near the healing hut for a few days.  So I guess I’ll find something to do around here.  Maybe take Pup for a walk.”

“He’d _love_ that.  Anything to be with you.”

“Aw…”

“He adores you.  I think he may even like you more than me.”

“Naw,” she scrunched her nose, “not possible.”

“I don’t know…you _are_ the lovelier of the two of us.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere.”

Cullen groaned, “oh Maker…please don’t say that…”

“Why not?”

“Because, _Dorian_ says that.  And he is the _last_ person I want to think about while naked.”

Moira’s cackle answered him.  She reached for a washcloth and began to gently scrub her body.  She then turned and began to wash him.  Cullen had to admit, it was really nice to be taken care of like such.  When she finished, he rose with her and wrapped her up in a towel.  He pulled the drain and dried off.  They returned to the bedroom to dress for the day.  As Moira moved for her clothing from the night before, he cleared his throat.

“That, uh, won’t be necessary…”

She looked up from where she’d bent over.  Her towel held to her body with one hand.  “Oh?  Why not?”

Cullen rubbed his neck nervously, “because I…may have taken the liberty to…order some clothing to be made for you?”  He gestured to the dresser, refusing to meet her gaze.  “The right side, all three drawers.”

Moira padded over and opened the top drawer.  She withdrew a pair of smalls before she opened the next two.  Tunics, a few dresses, and corset vests like she preferred to wear were folded neatly in the second drawer.  The third drawer held leggings and trousers.  She took out a pair of deep blue leggings a white tunic and a grey corset vest.  She turned to him with an unreadable expression on her face.

“You had these made for me?”

“Er…yes…?  If they aren’t to your liking then—oof!” He grunted as she threw herself at him.  She hugged him tightly, burying her face against his chest.  “I…take it you aren’t displeased then?”

She shook her head.

“Moira?”

She sniffled and he panicked.

“Are you crying?!  Maker, what did I do?!”

“N—no…idiot.  I’m crying because this is such a sweet gesture!”

“O—oh…”

“Nobody has ever bought me clothes before…”

Cullen breathed out a sigh of relief.  “I thought perhaps it was too forward or maybe even pushy…”

“No…”

“Then,” he waited for her to step back, wiping her eyes a bit, “do you like them?”

“I love them.  Thank you.”

Cullen unconsciously puffed his chest with pride.  Moira snickered and poked his chest.  He realized what he’d done and deflated.  “I’ll go…make breakfast now.”

“You mean lunch?” She waggled her brows at him.

He chuckled and nodded.  He tugged on clean smalls, trousers, and a soft tunic as well.  He walked into his kitchen and began to shuffle through his supplies.  He frowned.  His stores had gotten low.  Perhaps treating his lady to a meal at the tavern wouldn’t be such a horrible idea.  He smiled to himself.  _His lady._   He turned and walked back to the room.  He watched as Moira laced up the corset vest.  Her white tunic hung off her shoulders.  One of his love-marks was clearly visible upon her collar just beside the vest’s strap.  He grinned at the sight.  She looked up at him. 

“That was fast,” she mused as she tugged her leggings up her legs.

“My supplies are low.  How about a meal at the tavern?”

“Sounds fine by me.”

They both slipped socks on and tugged on boots before heading out the door.  Cullen called to Pup and the mabari eagerly jogged after them.  The meal at the tavern was tasty chunk of roast ram, potatoes, vegetables, and fresh baked bread.  Afterwards, Moira kissed Cullen’s cheek and left with Pup to go wander the edge of the woods beside the village.  Cullen didn’t worry.  After all, not only was Moira a capable fighter, but she had a war-hound with her.  He met with Rylen at the building they’d set aside as the brig. 

Rylen gave him the largest, knowing grin upon approach.  Cullen studiously ignored it.  “What decision was made?”

Rylen wisely kept any wisecracks to himself.  “I put it to all the senior officers for vote on what to do with arsehat.  We reached a unanimous consensus.”

“And?”

Adelaide stepped from the brig, a rather dark expression on her face.  She was wiping her hands on a cloth.  A speck or two of blood were on her left cheek.  “Upon his _freely given confession_ …we’ve decided upon exile.  I’ve already penned his fate to her worship, Divine Victoria.  His fate is in his own hands again.”

Cullen rose a brow at her, “when you say freely given…?”

“Are you sure you want to know?” She countered with that edge that screamed, _don’t ask._

Cullen glanced at the door.  Torture was something he disapproved of.  It was so very against everything he believed in.  He made a decision then.  One he prayed the Maker would forgive him for.  “No.  As far as I’m concerned, he had a change of heart overnight.”

Adelaide nodded somberly, “after Naren approves him for travel, we’ll blindfold him and take him to one of the nearest villages and release him once more.”

“That would be a wise decision,” Cullen nodded to the woman. 

Adelaide cleared her throat, “is Moira all right?”

Rylen snorted.  Cullen fought the urge to hit the man.  “She’s doing much better now, thank you.”

“Good.  I didn’t want to have to stage an _accident_ for our _companion_ there on his way out of here.”

Cullen raised his brows, “has anyone ever told you that you are frightening, Adelaide?”

“Maybe once or twice,” she answered flippantly before she shrugged.  Rylen laughed beside Cullen.  Adelaide shot the Starkhavener a smirk. 

“I’ll leave this in your hands then,” Cullen started to turn.

“I understand why you stepped aside.  It didn’t go unnoticed.  We respect you, Cullen.  If you _had_ handled it how _you_ saw fit…we wouldn’t have questioned it.” Adelaide tossed out there.

Cullen smiled, “thank you for your confidence.”

“Of course,” she scoffed as though it were obvious, “we don’t follow you without reason.”

“Maker only knows why,” Rylen teased.

“It’s because I put up with _you,_ ” Cullen pointed at the other man in good humor.  He walked away then.  He felt a bit more comfortable knowing that the situation was being handled.  He didn’t appoint his senior officers because of rank alone.  This was only one of the many reason why he trusted their judgments.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO MUCH FLUFF!!


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty-Three**   
**Bad Company**

Moira found that everything fell into a rhythm that she could truly appreciate.  For the first time in her life, she felt like she was _home_.  The last few weeks proved that she was where she belonged.  She went back to work healing with Naren two days after her little scare.  She pretended not to notice the small entourage that left in the middle of one of those nights.  Whether they were escorting Caidum outside the village or leading him to a quiet execution, she didn’t know.  She just knew that Cullen was laying beside her.  Not out there.  Which meant he’d removed himself from the decision making when it came to the other templar. 

Their mornings were spent enjoying a simple breakfast either would cook.  Their days were spent attending to duties.  Their evenings were filled with conversation and every night they found more than a little relief in each other’s arms.  Whether it was sex or holding one another until they fell asleep.  This morning was a cold one.  She’d woken a bit reluctantly.  Cullen’s warm body made it hard to leave the bed.  He seemed just as unhappy with the notion.  After a light breakfast, he walked with her to the healer’s hut.  She squeezed his hand before stepping inside.  Naren set her to work on helping her set a bone.  One of the templars had been out trying to load the repaired supply wagon that Moira had given to the village.  He’s slipped on a bit of frost that covered the edge.  He had caught his whole body straight down onto his wrist.  Needless to say, it snapped. 

The potion she gave him before she settled beside him helped numb most of the pain.  She smiled apologetically at him.  “This is not going to feel good, Ser Lewis.”

He nodded, taking a sharp breath, “just do what need be done, Miss Moira.”

Moira felt with her fingers and realigned the bones.  He grunted, grinding his teeth.  She braced the hand properly before she set to work on healing it with a bit of mana.  Once it was fused just enough to heal correctly, she wrapped the wrist securely.  She ignored the sounds coming from the front of the hut.  Naren was speaking in low tones with someone.  Ser Lewis released a measured breath. 

“Thank you, Miss Moira…”

“You’re very welcome,” Moira pat his leg.  “Just try not to pull anymore swan dives.  Believe it or not, _most_ people don’t bounce.”

A deep chortle made her look up.  A dark-haired man leaned in the doorway.  He was quite handsome.  Tall, muscled, yet lithe; his well-trimmed yet full beard was oddly fitting.  He held himself like a man who _knew_ his strength and utilized it rather happily. 

“Don’t believe that!  Of _course_ people bounce!  It’s rather amusing when it happens too.” He mused, his accent a deep mixture of Ferelden and Free Marcher.  “Hope you’re not too busy, miss fancy hands.  I have a friend who could use a little pick me up.”

Moira nodded and rose, “of course.  Send them in?”

He leaned out the door and shouted at someone.  Ser Lewis bowed his head as he walked toward the door.  He bowed to the man before ducking out.  An elven woman stepped inside.  She looked around with doe-eyes. 

“This is quite the set-up.  Oh!  Are those elderberries?  I do so love elderberries!  Look at how many potions are here too!”

The man snorted and nodded to the chair where Moira stood beside.  “Go have a seat, Daisy.”

“Oh!  Right…silly me,” the elven woman smiled brightly at Moira as she moved to sit.  “I had a bit of an accident.”

Moira gaped at the _accident_.  The woman was oddly coherent for such an enormous gash on her arm.  Moira sat quickly and began to inspect the wound.  She felt it there; mana.  A frown crossed her lips.  “Why didn’t you start to heal it yourself?”

“Oh I did!  But, well…it was a bit deep for my already low mana.”

“ _This_ is after you tried?!” Moira was appalled as she set to work.  “I’ll be stitching this up before anything else.  Where is my suture kit?” 

She spotted it next to the man by the door.  She hopped up and rushed over to grab it and the stashed, hidden bottle of whiskey.  She shuffled back to the woman’s side.  She set to cleaning the wound.  The woman hissed but was careful to hold still throughout the whole process.  Once the wound was cleaned, stitched, and bandaged, Moira moved to clean her hands. 

“I have to say, I’m absolutely _shocked_ that _Curly_ would dare allow a mage among his people.  No matter how lovely, I might add,” the man winked at Moira. 

Curly?  She shrugged at him, “I’m not sure what to say to that.  I just do whatever is needed.”

He snorted derisively, “like a dutiful little slave?  Wonderful.”

She straightened and bristled at that, “excuse me?”

“Hm?  Oh, sorry.  Did that offend you?  Pardon me.” He was far from remorseful if that dark twinkle in those eyes was any indication.  His eyes were like a pool of spilled lyrium.  Blue.  Very, very blue.

“Are you done yet?” A voice growled from outside.  The man laughed and turned to step out.

“What?  Getting antsy, Fenris?”

“I’m _always_ antsy,” came the gruff reply.

Moira noted that Naren was conspicuously missing then.  She moved to the front of the hut.  “Are you passing through or here on business?”

“Business, mostly.  Though I wouldn’t mind a little pleasure with said business,” he purred, leaning toward her.  He was as tall as Cullen.  She snorted at him.  Handsome though he was, he was not _her_ Cullen.  She raised a hand as though to stop him.

“If that’s your tactic, I’m afraid you’ll be barking up the wrong tree, serrah.”

“Maybe I like trees?”

She chuckled despite herself, “are you sure that’s the story you want to stick to?”

“I do love trees,” he grinned. 

Moira stepped outside and took note of the two elves present.  One was a male with odd white markings all over his visible skin.  The second was the woman she’d just stitched up.  The man followed her out.  He really had no idea what personal space was as his hand not so innocently brushed her side. 

“Maybe I can show you around?”

The man laughed.  It was the kind of laugh that was meant to disarm and charm.  “Wherever you want to lead, lovely, I’ll follow.”

“Ugh…” The white-haired elf grunted from where he leaned on the lower edge of the porch and railing.  The female elf giggled into her hand. 

Moira cleared her throat, stepping off the porch.  She motioned to the tavern, “there’s the tavern.  Though I think that’s rather obvious.  The main officers are that way,” she pointed to the left and up the road, “the few vendors that come and go set up further that way as well.  The bathhouse is up there—”

“Bathhouse?”

Moira rolled her eyes at the way he perked up, “yes.  The armory is there, on other side of the tavern.  You’ll find our arcanist inside there as well.”

“ _’Our?’_ ”

“…is there a problem?” Moira turned to pin him with a searching look. 

“No, no…no problem…” He held his hands up in a show of surrender.  She didn’t believe it for a second.  Crossing her arms, she jut her hip and raised her brows at him.  He chuckled and lowered his hands, “all right.  Maybe you got me there.  Just having a hard time believing a mage _willingly_ stays _here_.  Especially under _Curly’s_ command.”

Curly.  Cullen.  The disdain in the man’s tone made her hackles raise.  Before she could call him on it, she heard footsteps approaching.  She glanced over as Rylen rushed toward them.  His face was set into a grave expression.

“Well, look if it isn’t Rylen!” The man hollered, spreading his arms wide.  “Long time no see!”

A dwarf shuffled along beside Rylen.  The Starkhavener smiled thinly at the man.  “Hawke, thought you weren’t due in for another couple of weeks.”

Moira felt her body tense up.  Hawke.  As in…the Champion of Kirkwall, Hawke? 

“Ah, roads weren’t so bad after all.  Plus I had a wounded elf.  Can’t be running around with injured elves.  You know how that is!”

Rylen’s face paled, “Hawke, you didn’t…”

“What?  Bring Daisy?  Of _course_ I did!  Why?  Are you not accepting mages after all?” Hawke’s arm slid around her and pulled her against his side, “my!  Why didn’t anyone say anything to this lovely creature?”

“We didn’t have much choice, Rylen…” The dwarf began.

“What the bloody void do you think you’re doing?”

Moira’s eyes snapped to Cullen.  His face was frozen in a snarl of muted fury.  His gaze was locked upon Hawke’s arm around her.  She swallowed thickly.  Shit.  He didn’t think _she_ was to blame here, did he?  She tried to step away but Hawke’s arm tightened. 

“What I always do!  Helping poor defenseless little mages from the nasty clutches of the templars.  What are _you_ doing, Curly?”

Cullen’s eyes were nearly slits; his fists so tightly clenched his knuckles had bled white.  Moira could _feel_ the hatred rolling off of him.  She turned to push against Hawke.

“Release me,” she huffed.

Hawke looked down at her, “look, lovely.  I’m not trying to be an ass.  I’m actually _trying_ to do you a favor.  I don’t know what he’s trying to prove with this little _redemption_ camp, but he’s hardly worth being around.  _Especially_ for mages like us.”

Moira glared up at him, she was about to draw her mana up to zap him.

“She said _release her_!!” Cullen roared, striding forward with deadly intent. 

Hawke looked over at him, a crooked grin split his face.  The mana that rose up in him made Moira falter.  He shoved her behind him as though he were protecting her. 

“Hawke!” The dwarf cried out.

“Cullen!” Rylen barked and jumped out to stop his friend. 

“Oh no…” the elven woman spoke softly.  “This isn’t going to be pretty.”

“You think?” The other man scoffed.

Moira had enough.  She quickly darted around Hawke and rushed to Cullen.  He paused long enough to hook his arm around her waist and draw her alongside him. 

“Are you hurt?  Did he _touch_ you?”

Before Moira could reply, a disbelieving bark of laughter exploded from Hawke.  “Oh…oh this is _rich!”_

Cullen growled, the sound deep in his chest.  Moira may not have heard it if she hadn’t felt the vibration beneath her fingers on his chest.  She realized now just how much this other man affected Cullen.  He hadn’t been joking.  These two had such hatred and bad blood between them.  She turned her back to Hawke blatantly and cupped Cullen’s face.  It took him a beat longer than usual to turn his detest filled eyes to her.  Those beautiful eyes she loved so much softened at the edges. 

She whispered so that he could hear her but no one else, “don’t.”

One word.  His lips thinned.  He wanted to argue with her.  To tell her to butt out.  She could _see_ it there.  But he inhaled deeply and released it sharply.  He flicked a dark, warning glance at Hawke before he turned.  He released her and began to walk back the way he’d come.  The spectators who’d gathered for the showdown parted for him like he truly was the lion he was dubbed for.  She watched him go, her heart thundering in her chest. 

“So…now you fuck mages too?!  Did you at least ask for her consent first?!” Hawke jeered after Cullen.

There was a damn near audible _snap_ in the air.  That was all it took.  Cullen spun and charged back.  Hawke was prepared for it.  Both men moved _too quickly_ for anyone to stop them.  They collided like two storm fronts.  Punches flew and blood splattered the ground.  Neither man was giving ground.  Rylen rushed forth to at least _try_ and stop the blood bath.  He caught a fist to the face and stumbled back.  Moira summoned her mana without thought.  She took aim as Hawke’s back was to her.  A snarl rent the air.  She turned to see another mabari hunkered down.  Looking at her.  Its teeth were bared at her.  She froze.  If she threw that spell then that mabari would have her throat out in a flash.  Then to her horror an answering snarl came from beside her.  Pup moved to guard her.  The two mabari, like their owners snapped forth. 

This time Moira screamed.  It pierced the air as the two mabari clashed.  It was enough to stun the two men from their flying fists.  Pup yelped as the other mabari sank its teeth into his flank.  Without thought, Moira ran toward them.  She knew it was stupid but _Makerdamnit_ , Pup was just as much _her_ mabari now as he was Cullen’s!  She threw herself between the mabari to protect Pup from another attack.  A sharp shout from Hawke halted the other mabari right as it was about to clamp down on Moira’s back.  She heard Cullen rush over to them.  She looked up at him.  Blood gushed down from his nose, his scarred lip was split open once more.  A rather ugly looking jagged cut was on his other cheek.  He would certainly have a black eye.  He turned to glare back at Hawke.  Moira sat back and settled her hands upon Pup.  Shaking from the adrenaline and terror for her mabari, she began to flood his wound with her mana. 

She spared a glance at Hawke, “I swear to the Maker, if your mabari bites mine again…I’ll fucking rip its Maker damned intestines out through its nose and choke your with them!”

Cullen made a sound akin to a dry chuckle.  She shot him a loaded glare.  He quickly shut up and chose to smooth his hand over Pup’s uninjured leg. 

Hawke wiped blood from his own mouth, “feisty little mage, aren’t you?”

“Yes.  And I don’t have any issues with stabbing people, Serrah _Hawke_ , so kindly fuck off and let me heal my dog!!”

His laugh was not what she’d been going for but he did lift his hands in a surrender motion and stepped back.  He then pointed at Cullen, “we’ll finish this little… _chat_ later.”

“Oh, I assure you _Hawke_ …we _will._   And keep your fucking hands off of my love.”

Cullen’s claim on her with such conviction was flattering.  It also was _not_ the time to feel a rush of desire at the intense inflection of his voice.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so...I feel like I need to say this. I actually LOVE Hawke. VERY, VERY much. He/She is my favorite to play as by far. I love Treveylan/Lavellen. But humorous Hawke is seriously my spirit-animal. But in this...he's really out of line when it comes to Cullen. They have REALLY bad blood between them that neither was really mature enough to move past in this story.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lovely Hodgyk wrote a gift ficlet for this! If you can, go find it! It's lovely! It's called A Wander Dream: Feel the Current Within.

** Chapter Twenty-Four **   
**I Can’t Deny**

Moira stood after she finished patching up Pup.  Luckily, the wound wasn’t very deep.  It hadn’t taken nearly as much mana to fix up than she’d thought it would.  Cullen still lifted Pup into his strong arms.  She scratched Pup’s ear lovingly.  She leaned forward and kissed his head.  Pup turned to lick her cheek. 

“Love you, big guy,” she murmured to Pup before looking up at Cullen, “I’ll meet you soon.  I’m going to check on Rylen’s nose.  I’m fairly certain it’s broken just from looking at it from here.”

Cullen’s eyes were unreadable.  He nodded silently and turned, walking away.  The templars gathered to help or stop the situation parted upon Cullen’s approach like sea waves.  Her heart was searing in anguish.  The sight of Cullen so…she didn’t even have the proper word to _describe_ him right now.  Livid?  Was that even enough?  She sighed, running a hand through her hair.  She moved to Rylen’s side.  He sat on the ground with Naren knelt before him.  Adelaide was kneeling behind him, letting him lean back against her.  Naren was bracing his nose with her hands.

“You ready?”

Rylen’s voice came out a bit stuffy, “as ready as’ll be…”

Naren nodded, “on three.  Inhale.  One,” _crack!_   Rylen swore colorfully as Naren set his nose before he could brace himself.  Moira grimaced in sympathy as she moved to crouch before him.  Her hands glowed with her mana as she lifted them to the poor man’s broken and gushing nose. 

He jolted slightly and grunted as she settled her hands on either side of his nose.

“You sure that’s a good idea after Pup, girl?” Naren questioned, her eyes ever watchful of Moira.

Moira flashed her a distracted smile, “it wasn’t as bad as it looked.  I can take the swelling down and start the mending of the cartilage.”

“Dun waste all yer healin’ on me, lass.  Save some fer yer man…” Rylen spoke around the obvious pain in his face.  He waggled his brows and groaned at the way it jostled his wound. 

“I can still do this and have plenty to help Cullen,” she mumbled, “but there’s not much I’ll be able to do about the raccoon eyes you’re going to have, though.”

“He’ll just have to live with that,” Adelaide spoke softly, shaking her head and casting a dark look toward where Hawke stood a bit off. 

Moira refused to look that way, “Naren, you should tend to our _guest_.”

Naren gruffly agreed, rising to her feet.  “You keep those hands away from your nose, you hear me boy?”

“Aye…” Rylen drawled as Naren shook the dirt from her skirts and turned to stalk toward Hawke.  “I _almost_ pity that poor bastard…”

Adelaide snorted, “you would.  Come on you…let’s get you to your cabin.”

Moira helped Rylen up alongside Adelaide, “ice it as often as you can stand.”

Rylen nodded, “aye, I’ll do that.”

Moira watched as they both shuffled off toward the cabins that were set aside for the officers.  A throat cleared and she turned to see one of the newer templars standing by.  Several lost looks faced her.  She blinked, wondering _why_ they were looking at _her_.  That was when she realized all the senior officers were currently missing from the fray.  The others were out on runs for the village.  The last two senior officers had just walked off toward the cabins.  Taking a deep breath, she nodded to herself. 

“Continue with your usual duties until further notice.  When the Commander is ready to speak, he’ll do so.  As for our guests, be respectful but you are more than welcome to keep your distance if that’s what you’d prefer.  Otherwise, they are guests like all the others we’ve had before.”

“Yes, Miss Moira,” the nearest templar bowed.  She watched as they slowly dispersed to their duties.

“Damn,” a voice came from beside her, “no wonder Curly likes you.”

She turned and regarded the dwarf beside her.  He was grinning at her, impressed.  She raised a brow at him, “what is with the nickname?”

“Curly?  Curly hair…?” The dwarf drawled with his hands up, “we weren’t exactly able to come up with much more at the time.  Plus, Broody was already taken.” He thumbed over his shoulder at the white-haired elf. 

“Fitting,” Moira turned to the dwarf, “you knew Cullen from Kirkwall then?”

He laughed, “not _just_ Kirkwall.  We both served in the Inquisition; admittedly in _very_ different roles.”

Dwarf, Inquisition…  “ _You’re_ Varric Tethras?”

Varric chuckled, bowing in an overexaggerated fashion.  “The one and only.  I see my name precedes me.”

“I had no idea _the_ Master Tethras also knew Cullen from Kirkwall,” Moira glanced toward a certain cabin where a certain man was currently stewing. 

“Oh yeah!  We go _way_ back,” Varric’s mood suddenly grew more somber, “look…I know how all this must look.  Don’t hold it against either of them too badly.  They…have some _unresolved_ issues…”

“That’s a bit of an understatement, wouldn’t you say?” She eyed him speculatively.

“Ha!  Yeah.  I would.  Look, all I’m saying is…there’s always two sides to every story.  I should know, I write them.”

Moira hugged herself, “yeah…I know.  Right now though, I…I need to check on Cullen.”

“You sure he doesn’t need some more quiet time?  He’s…never really been one for _company_ when he’s pissed.”

“I think I can handle it,” Moira snorted as he inclined her head to Varric.  “Nice to finally meet you, Master Tethras.”

“Please, just Varric.  No need for all that master shit.”

With a smirk, Moira walked toward the cabin.  She knocked the dust from her boots before she entered the cabin.  Closing the door behind her, she spotted Pup laying on his doggy bed.  He was asleep.  She watched the rise and fall of his sides for a long minute just to reassure herself that he really was okay.  Her eyes trailed to where Cullen stood at the back of the cabin.  His body was held tensely; arms banded over his broad chest, feet shoulder width apart.  He looked ever the former templar in that moment.  She slowly made her way over.  She felt like the small doe approaching the stony lion sitting in the grass.  He tilted his head at her approach; just enough to watch her closely with his eyes.  She boldly slid her body between his and the window before him.  His eyes followed her every move.  Her chest brushed his.  He was holding himself so damn tightly that she could see the beginning of bruises forming on his arms from his own fingers.  She kept her eyes trained on his.  Reaching her hand up, she began to tug the laces of her vest open.  His eyes dropped to her hand.  She saw the change in his eyes.  The anger still swam there but so did lust.  Her hand dipped further to tug the front of his trouser laces. 

That was what did it.  She gasped loudly as his hands snapped from his arms to her body.  Her back slammed into the window and frame hard enough to rattle the glass.  It was _almost_ painful but she didn’t care.  One of his hands wrenched her blouse down roughly to expose her breasts.  The vest shoulders and the blouse arms fell down to her elbows with the motion.  His mouth claimed her bare breast greedily and hungrily.  She threw her head back against the glass with a sigh.  His hands tore her pants down her thighs.  He yanked her boots from her feet and threw them without a care.  He never broke from his lavishing attention upon her breasts as he pulled his heavy arousal free from his breeches.  He entered her in one long, hard thrust.  She was already soaking for him.  She cried loudly at his penetration.  He fucked her hard and fast.  Every thrust made her hit the window and rattled the panes behind her.  She moaned loudly as he rutted her like a wild animal.  Even in his current state, he still put her above himself.  He pressed a thumb to her clit while pounding her into the wall.  She arched against him.  A long mewl falling from her lips.  Her walls convulsed around his hot length.  His near bruising grip on her hips steadied her as his rhythm broke.  He came with a sound that was close to a roar.  She gasped as she felt his seed fill her once more.  The sensation of that along with the way he pushed himself as deep into her as he could possibly go made her whimper as she gripped his shoulders tightly. 

Cullen leaned his face into her neck, trying to catch his breath.  The knowledge that just anyone could have looked straight through the house from the kitchen window and saw them fucking against the wall was a thrill she’d never thought she could feel.  Her right hand slid up to bury in the curls she loved so much.  His mouth began to leave open mouthed kisses over her throat.  She let a contented sigh escape. 

“Forgive me…” He murmured as he nibbled the underside of her jaw, “I lost control…”

“Mm…I _know_ ,” she smiled lazily at the ceiling, “and it was _so wonderful_.”

He froze.  He inhaled sharply against her, not daring to move.  “I could have hurt you, Moira.  Why did you let me--?”

“Because I needed to feel you as much as you seemed to need me.”

“How can--?”

“Because I love you, idiot.  I didn’t fall in love with the best part of you alone.  I fell in love with the _man_ that is _Cullen_.  His temper, his anger, his frustration, he bitterness, his past, his present, his smile, his laugh, his body, his soul…everything.”

“I…when I saw his arm around you…” He shook and she could tell it was barely restrained anger, “Moira, I wanted to gut him then and there.  Of _all the men_ to touch you…it _had_ to be _him?”_

She trailed her fingers up and down his back and shoulders soothingly.  “He’s not currently balls deep inside of me, is he?”

Cullen choked out a laugh, despite himself.  “N—no.  I suppose not.”

“Cullen?”

“My love?”

“Lose control with me more often?  I rather like being pinned like this.  It’s _very_ sexy to feel you so… _wild_.”

He laughed and leaned back, “you like this?”

“I’m still dripping, what do _you_ think?”

“…well then, in that case…” Oh how she loved that lopsided grin of his.  “I’ll _definitely_ keep that in mind.”

He shifted so that she could lower her legs.  Her limbs trembled with the effort to hold herself up.  He slid out of her.  She mourned the loss of his connection.  He didn’t seem entirely fond of it either.  She kicked her pants completely off as they had only been yanked down to dangle from one ankle.  She shuffled to the bathing room carefully. 

“Are you all right?”

She smiled coyly at him over her shoulder, “I’m _quite_ all right.  Just having a little difficulty walking is all.”

He blinked before a satisfied, wolfish grin grew on his face.  “Oh?  Is that so?”

“Yes, it is so,” she stepped into the bathing room and began to wet a washcloth.  She set to cleaning herself up.  Arms slid around her from behind and took the cloth from her hand. 

“Seems to me, this is a mess of _my_ making.  I should be the one to clean it up…” He purred into her ear.  She moaned unashamedly.  His hand cupped her with the washcloth and slowly worked it around.  She reached up behind her to hook her arm over his shoulders.  The washcloth was quickly abandoned as his fingers drew along her seam and up over her still swollen clit.  She rocked against his hand as he slowly pushed two fingers deep inside of her while his thumb rotated over her nub expertly.  Her breast rose and fell with her heavy breaths.  His free hand slid over her body, around and up to cup her breasts one at a time.  Toying with each nipple at a time.  She was rising to the edge so quickly.  She dropped her head back against his chest with a long moan as her body clamped down around his fingers.  He continued to pump them lazily through her orgasm. 

“That,” she breathed, “was a bit counterproductive, don’t you think?”

“Not at all,” he nuzzled her hair.

Moira hummed as she felt her muscles turn to putty.  She stepped just enough away from him to regather the cloth, rinse it and finish her task.  Once done, she turned to him and set to wiping him clean as well.  He let her even though they both knew he didn’t feel it entirely necessary.  He readjusted himself and laced his trousers once more.  He plucked her smalls and leggings from the floor, righting them before handing them to her.  She took them with a grateful smile.  Tugging her clothing back on and setting her blouse and vest back to rights, she glanced at Pup still sleeping soundly.  Even after all of what they’d just done. 

“H—how is Rylen’s nose?” Cullen asked, sheepishly rubbing his neck. 

She looked at him, “broken.”

Cullen grimaced, shifting his hand to rub his face instead.  “Shit.”

“Wait… _you_ punched him?”

Cullen’s face flushed in embarrassment and self-loathing.  “Yes.”

“…oh…”

“I didn’t realize it was him grabbing my arm until…” He trailed off weakly. 

“It’s been reset; he’ll have two black eyes for a while.  But it should only take him about half the time to heal than if I didn’t heal it partially.  Which reminds me, come here you.”

He sighed and approached.  He didn’t fight her as she set her hands over his face.  She repaired his injuries.  She ignored the fact that she’d tasted the blood from his lips when he’d kissed her earlier.  It had to sting like a bitch.  Once she finished, his face was mostly back to normal.  The cuts were closed, but still angry pink.  He would have to wash the dried blood off and the bruises would need to heal on their own.  She kept her hands on his face even though she was long done with healing him.  He looked down into her face.  He was torn.  She could see it in his eyes. 

“He was wrong to say what he did,” she stated, firmly.

He closed his eyes and hung his head, “yes.  He was.  But _I_ was wrong to raise to his bait.”

Moira couldn’t argue with him; she wanted to.  But now was not the time.  He was already beating himself up enough as it was.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I...have nothing to say. Except...Cullen. Wall sex. Yum.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter Twenty-Five  
Rebel Souls**

Moira woke early the next morning.  Cullen was still sleeping deeply beside her.  She watched his sleep smoothed faced.  His lips were parted with the most endearing small snore.  She carefully trailed her fingertips over his brows.  Leaning to kiss his nose, she rolled out of bed.  Something made her wake earlier than usual.  Slipping on the shirt she’d stolen from Cullen after she’d officially began living with him; she padded out to the living room.  Pup shifted his head, blinking drowsily at her.  She smiled and lowered to her knees, bending to kiss his head.

“Hey you…how are you feeling, Pup?”

Pup sighed and bumped her face with his nose.  She smiled, setting her forehead atop his.  “Anytime, boy.  You’re my little mabari in shining armor.”

He snorted and let his head settle back on his large paws.  She rose and moved to the kitchen to start some water for tea.  She caught movement coming toward the cabin.  She frowned as she watched a tall figure in the darkness of the early morning.  She set the kettle aside and moved to the door.  Grabbing her weapon, she held it in one hand while she opened the door with the other.  She watched the person freeze mid-motion.  Hawke looked up from where he was stooped over the front porch steps.  He held a rather large bone in the hand he was reaching toward the floor of the porch with.  A brow rose at the sight of her.  She didn’t have the mind to care that her bare legs were on full display to the man.  She stepped fully out the door, closing it behind her.  She crossed her arms with a look that clearly said, _what do you want?_

Hawke rose and cleared his throat, “a peace offering from Ser Barkington to your Pup.”

“So _that’s_ why you decided to creep about in the dark of the morning?”

“…well, yes and that I’m…sorry.  For that dreadful display yesterday.” He sighed, looking away and running a hand through his dark hair.  “Look, I know I acted like a complete ass yesterday.  I don’t generally make it a habit of grabbing women who aren’t _asking_ me to.  So I apologize for that.  Believe it or not, I _was_ trying to shield you.  I’m accustomed to templars being very against mages.  As far as I knew, you simply _were_ being held here against your will.  So for that assumption, I _am_ sorry.”

Moira blew out a breath through puffed cheeks.  She leaned on the door behind her.  “Why did you bait him like that?”

Hawke’s eyes returned to her, darkened by a fury she could easily recognize.  Cullen held the same look when it came to the man before her as well.  Maker, what the bloody void had _happened_ between these two?  “Tell you what…why don’t you ask your templar lover about a mage named Solona?  See what he has to tell you.  _Then_ ask me about _my_ side.”

A slither of dread iced over her heart.  She nodded once to show she would do just that.  He tucked his hands into the pouches that hung off his belts.  He jerked his chin at the bone before he turned to leave. 

“And give my regards to Pup as well.  He’s a good mabari.  Loyal.  You have a damn fine animal there, Stormy.”

Moira blinked at the name as he trudged away.  Stormy?  She shook her head and slipped back inside.  She returned to the kettle and set it up for tea.  As she did so, she chewed over what Hawke had said.  Who was Bethany?  And why did it mean such vicious, bad blood between these two men?  Running her hand over her face, she decided she was not awake enough for this shit just yet. 

…..

Moira was in the healer’s hut.  She had fixed and ate a small breakfast with Cullen.  She hadn’t asked him about the mysterious Solona.  She hadn’t been able to drum up enough courage to do so.  Part of her knew it was because she was afraid.  She was actually _afraid_ to hear about this woman.  She busied herself with potions and the like.  She didn’t even hear the door open. 

“So that’s why you’ve so many potions about here.”

Moira jumped out of skin, shattering the bottle she’d been holding upon the floor.  She glanced at the elven woman as she swore softly under her breath.  The woman moved to help her.

“Oh dear!  I didn’t think that through, now did I?  Silly me.”

Moira shook her head, “no, no. I shouldn’t have been so easily startled.”

“You are part Dalish, aren’t you?”

Moira felt her body clam up, looking up with wide eyes.  “W—what makes you say that?”

“Oh, it’s your eyes.  They’re very lovely.  Large, expressive, and the color is very unique.  That and you’re small like us.  Not _as_ small, but definitely still small.  Oh, I’m ramblin’ again, aren’t I?”

“Only a bit,” Moira smiled patiently as she grabbed the nearby hand broom and swept up the broken glass.  “My mother’s side.”

“She must have been quite lovely.”

“I…think so,” Moira mumbled.  She could barely remember what her mother even looked like.  Just that she had her mother’s eyes.  She remember _that_.  It was forever etched in her mind, the terror filled purple-blues, as she chased the wagon taking Moira away to the Circle.

“Oh…a sore spot, I see.  Sorry!  I just don’t know when to stop talkin’, see?”

“You couldn’t have known,” Moira stood, dumping the dust collector full of glass shard into the nearest trash bin. 

“About yesterday, I wanted to thank you.  With your help, I was able to just about finish healing my arm fully.  Where did you learn mundane medicine with your magic?”

This woman was certainly talkative, wasn’t she?  “I learned from various healers throughout the world.  Magic isn’t always the best suited method nor is it always practical.”

“That’s a refreshing perspective.”

Moira shrugged, “not everywhere is friendly to mages.”

“Oh, don’t I know it!” She lowered her voice conspiratorially, “’specially when one uses a wee bit of blood magic.  They seem to forget it derived from ancient elven magic and was quite harmless before it was tainted.”

Moira couldn’t breathe.  She looked over in horror, “w—what?”

The woman beamed at her innocently.  Surely she’d heard that wrong?  Surely this woman didn’t practice _blood magic_?  She looked around the hut and found she was completely alone with the elven woman.  Naren was still out dealing with some house calls she’d been making each morning as of late.  With the newer templars, they often needed a little extra help. 

“I heard some of the people mutterin’ about here that you and the Knight-Captain were,” she whispered, “ _romantic_.  Is that true?”

Unable to quite shake the discomfort she still felt from what the woman had said earlier, Moira simply nodded.  She was stunned by the gasp the woman released.  “Is that…a problem?”

“Oh, n—no!  Just…I…it’s hard to believe.  A man who hates mages _that much_ bedding a mage?  Has he really changed so much?”

There was that sense of dread again, “well, he’s not that man anymore.”

“Nobody is really _not that person_ anymore.  Some hatreds are too deep seated to forget.  Tis a shame too.  But a mage-killer is a mage-killer in the end.  Some hunters can never truly give up the hunt.”

“…m—mage-killer?”

“Didn’t he tell you?  He was one of the specialized mage-hunter tasked with killing errant mages.”

How had…she not known that?  Moira felt ill.  She shook her head as the woman rambled on about the various times they’d had to either stop Cullen or thwart his men from hunting apostates trying to flee Kirkwall.  Bile swam and Moira ran outside.  She fell to the knees and wretched over the end of the porch.  The woman had followed her, concerned lilting words as she moved to rub circles into Moira’s back.  Moira spat out the last of her sickness. 

“I…I need to take a walk…” Moira rose to her feet and quickly darted down the porch.  She bypassed several concerned templars who asked if she was all right.  She shouldered past Ser Maksim and ran into the woods.  She wasn’t sure how long she walked.  She found that lovely stream Cullen had taken her to months before.  She sank down onto the bank, hugging her knees.  She wasn’t the same woman she was when she was locked in Ostwick.  He wasn’t the same man he was in Kirkwall.  It was that simple.  So why did her heart feel…unsure.  The sound of twigs snapping under booted feet made her tense. 

“Moira?”

She swallowed at the sound of Cullen’s voice as he approached her.  She didn’t dare speak.  Not yet.

“Maksim told me you were ill outside the healer’s hut and that you ran off afterward…are you all right, love?”

He moved to sit beside her.  She looked up into the face of the man she loved.  She had to know…it was eating her alive inside.  “Who was Solona?”

Cullen’s face fell into complete shock and dismay before anger took over.  Potent and very, very strong.  His lips curled as he hissed, “who told you that name?”

She hadn’t been sure what to expect.  Surely not _this_.  He grabbed her arms roughly. 

“ _Moira!  Who told you that name?!”_

She gasped and withdrew sharply from him.  He let go of her as though he realized what he’d done.  He grimaced and reached for her but she flinched from his touch.  His face looked pained before his hands dropped back to his thighs.  He turned to look away from her. 

“Who…who was she, Cullen?”

He made a sound of frustration, “I never pried into your past.  Why must you do so to me?”

She felt tears sting her eyes.  He was right, but also wrong at the same time.  She _had_ told him in the end.  She shifted and rose to her feet.  She began to walk away.  She got all of ten steps before he stopped her.  She yanked away from him, spinning to glare up at him.

“I _told_ you what happened to _me_.  I trusted you with it!  All I ask is the name of a woman and you…you grow angry with me?!  What if I grew angry at the mention of another man’s name?  What would _you_ do?!”

Cullen ran a hand over his face, “I…Moira…”

“Tell me or don’t, Cullen.  But wouldn’t it be easier for me to hear it from _you_?”

“NO!” He snapped, “it won’t be easier to hear from me!  What you ask of me…”

Moira felt her own anger snap, “yes!  What I ask of you is _so wrong_!  What I ask the man I _love_ to trust me enough to tell me makes _me_ a monster!  Glad that we cleared that up!”

“Enough!” He roared at her.  But she didn’t back down.  She was _almost_ tempted to go ask Hawke first.  But she couldn’t.  No matter how angry with Cullen she was, she could never betray him like that. 

“It’s not enough,” she sighed, shaking her head.  “But I won’t force you.  I love you, but I cannot give you my complete trust if you won’t even trust _me_ in return.”

“…who told you that name?” He asked again, this time quietly…almost dejectedly.

“So that you can go pick a fight with them too?  If it’s such a guarded secret, then I would hope you would at least _try_ to tell me sometime…”

He stared down at his boots.  Moira gave up.  He wasn’t going to talk.  She also knew she couldn’t pretend that everything was just fine.  She would sleep in the healer’s hut tonight. 

“She was…a charge in Kinloch,” he whispered.  Moira hadn’t expected him to speak so she nearly jumped when he did.  “A mage.  I…was infatuated with her.  When Uldred overthrew the tower with maleficarum and abominations…he used that infatuation against me.  I was locked in a cage of magic.  Uldred summoned…he summoned a desire demon.  It took her form and…tempted me.  Over and over again.  Ceaselessly.  While it tried to break my mind, the blood mages tried to break my body.  I was stabbed, clawed, burned, cut, and any other manner of torture you can imagine.  All but flayed alive.”

Moira stared at him, speechless.  She couldn’t look away from the tormented look on his face as he tried not to lose himself in those memories. 

“They killed _every single one_ of the other templars around me.  When…when the Hero of Fereldan and King Alistair released me from that cage…I…I was so broken.  Angry.  Hurt.  And bitter.  When I saw Solona again later on in the tower as we tried to rebuild…I…”

Moira watched him tremble and shake, his hands coming up to bury his face.  He sank to his knees on the forest floor.  She wanted to touch him, to comfort him.  To _stop_ him.  But she couldn’t move.  She _had_ to hear this. 

“I blamed her.  Maker, I…I tried to… _hurt_ her.  I made her life horrid.  I lashed out at her at every opportunity.  She…she told me she had…feelings for me.  Begged me to stop.  To stop hurting her.  I laughed in her face, Moira.  I threw her feelings back at her.  I…I told her a dead mage was the only good mage…”

Moira’s hands covered her mouth.

“I spurned her affections.  My actions…they led to other templars behaving similarly.  After what we had all witnessed, they wanted a reason to blame.  Solona she…she was violated by one of them.  She…she found she was with child after and took her life…”

Tears spilled down his cheeks.  He looked up at her.  Maker…why had Hawke wanted her to know _this?_ What could he have gained from this?  She didn’t know what to say or do.  Cullen swallowed thickly and dropped his head once more.  Such an awful silence surrounded them.  He shifted on his knees and moved to his feet sluggishly.  Without looking at her, her turned and left her there.  The unspeakable tragedy lingered between them.  A gaping distance stretched out.  She stood in the woods until long after dark.  When her feet were numb from the cold and her body shivering uncontrollably, she made the trek back into the village.  At the edge of the woods, Hawke leaned against a tree.  He looked up at her as she approached.  His somber expression told her he _knew_ she had asked. 

“Solona Amell was my cousin,” he answered the unspoken question.  “She loved a templar and he ripped her heart out, fed her to the wolves, and let her die.  That very same templar hunted mages like us as though it were sport.  It wasn’t until Meredith showed just how evil she’d become that he realized he was _probably_ wrong on most of his missions.  But that didn’t negate that he had, in fact, murdered hundreds of innocent mages.  Mages that just wanted to be free.  To be allowed to fucking _live_.  So many of them were driven into the desperation that leads to blood magic and demon summoning rituals.  They saw no other way.  If you’re told you’re a monster enough times, you eventually _become_ the monster you’ve been called.”

“Why did you tell me this?”

“Because,” he sighed as though incredibly tired, “everyone deserves to _really_ know who they’ve chosen to love.”          

* * *

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, Hawke isn't...isn't so awesome here. But they are facing their past demons now. That never feels great or goes super smoothly.


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter Twenty-Six  
Threw Away the Sun**

The bed felt so cold.  Cullen stared at the empty space beside him.  It was already long past the time she would have come home; come to bed.  He knew she had probably found somewhere else to sleep tonight.  He couldn’t blame her.  He hated himself so much.  He laughed then.  The sound bitter, broken, and bone-tired.  Of _course_.  He poured himself out to another soul and was summarily shut down.  The Maker hadn’t gifted him with a love beyond his wildest dreams.  He’d teased redemption and then tore it right out from under Cullen’s feet.  It was what he deserved.  He couldn’t even hate the Maker.  This was his punishment.  He rolled onto his back and buried his face in his hands.  His laughter faded into sobs of self-loathing.  Losing Solona had hurt.  He always blamed himself for that.  But this?  Losing Moira after having her, holding her, _telling her he loved her and she him back…_?  He’d rather die and forever roam oblivion than live a day without her.  But he didn’t have the choice?  Did he? 

He thought over who the hell could have told her Solona’s name.  Then it hit him like a battering ram.  _Hawke._ He bolted up in bed, his self-depreciation melding into the deep hatred he held for the other man.  As though Cullen didn’t feel like a monster already.  Hawke would never let him forget his past; to try and be a better man.  There was always that cocky bastard to drag him right back into the darkness of his past.  Shaking, he thought of storming out into the night, dragging Hawke from his bed to beat the ever-living shit out of him.  But what good would _that_ do?  He flopped back in bed and stared at the ceiling.  The night slowly bled into morning.  He had no sleep whatsoever.  It was a feeling he recalled miserably from the many, many nights during his withdrawals years ago.  He rolled from bed and washed up, dressed, and fed Pup mechanically.  He was halfway through a cup of tea when a loud knock sounded on his door.

He threw open the door with a growled, “what?”

“Well aren’t you just a peach…”

Cullen stood, taken-aback by Trevelyan’s quip.  “What are you doing here?”

“…did my letter not reach you?”

“Apparently not,” Cullen sighed, stepping aside. 

“Shit,” Max stepped inside, “that means Hawke showed up before me without warning…”

“Oh, you think?”

Max quirked a brow at Cullen’s surly attitude.  He unclasped his cloak with his only hand, “already a mess, I see.  You know, if you two would just _talk_ —”

“Don’t!” Cullen spun, knocking a chair across the kitchen, “I do _not_ want to listen to that shit again!  There _is nothing to talk about!!_ Some things _can’t_ be fixed with words, Max!!”

“What the bloody void happened to you?  You’re acting like the Cullen who nearly gave up his position as my Commander.”

Cullen stared at his friend and deflated.  He flopped into the nearest chair, dropping his head into his palms.  “I…told her about Solona…”

Max inhaled sharply, “Moira?”

“Yes…”

“I take it…that it didn’t go well?”

“No,” Cullen groaned, “it really didn’t.  Before that she…her father passed.  He succumbed to the lyrium madness.  Then she came back and Levenshire—”

“ _Levenshire was here?!”_ Max hissed harshly, “and she saw him?!”

“He was dealt with.”

“Is he dead?”

“No, exiled.  I would have killed him but Moira begged me to remain…objective.  So I told my officers to handle it so that I could remain separate from it all on Moira’s behest.”

“…Maker…Cullen…you should have killed him.”

Cullen scoffed, looking up.  He paused at the absolutely livid expression on Max’s face.  “What…what do you know that she didn’t tell me?” He rose slowly.

Max sighed, “she told you he raped her?”

“In not so bold of words, but I inferred as much…”

“Did she also tell you that he _killed_ other mages, framing her repeatedly, and then lording it over her head?  That he could have her killed for it?  Did she tell you that he would brutally torture her?  That he impregnated her and then forced her to take so much witherstalk and lyrium that she forced a miscarriage?” Max heaved a sigh that was borderline a growl.  “I…I’m sorry.  I just…that man is _evil_ , Cullen.  How he never became a red templar is beyond my abilities to comprehend.”

“You knew all of this?”

“Yes!  But I couldn’t…you told me not to tell you.  Or I would have.  I didn’t realize she—”

“She didn’t tell me all of that!” Cullen felt a swell of anger rush him.  Whether it was at Moira for not telling him _everything_ or for letting that bastard _go_ , he couldn’t say.  How could she be angry with him for not sharing his past when she hadn’t fully shared her own!? 

“You two are so fucking stupid,” Max rolled his eyes.  “ _This_ is why I tell Josie every, damn, little, thing.  The more you _don’t_ say, the more damage you deal one another!”

“What does it matter?” Cullen asked bitterly, “she’s made up her mind about me.  She didn’t even come home last night.”

“Home…?”

Cullen didn’t want to explain, he turned and grabbed the chair he’d knocked across the kitchen up.  “I assume you’re here for a reason?”

“Yes, I had found Hawke.  We were to meet up here once I caught up with Cass.  We’ll be ready to head to the city of Solas as soon as Moira is…”

Cullen stared at grains of the wooden table surface, “I believe you won’t have to wait long then…”

“Cullen—”

“Please, Max…leave it.  Maybe…maybe this is for the best.”

“You’re a true fool if you believe that.”

“Then I’m a damned fool.”

Max closed his eyes, “damn you, Cullen…”

“I already am, Max.”

….

Cullen busied himself with maps and the logical part of his brain.  Work.  It was how he could escape the gaping hole in his chest.  Cass had tried to talk with him earlier but he had dismissed her concerns as rapidly as she’d raised them.  She’d thrown her hands in the air, growled, and walked away.  He leaned on his table, staring down the map and the various routes the group could take to the city of Solas.  His finger was following a path when the door creaked open slowly.  He didn’t look up as he’d had the door open and shut with visitors and people all day.  This route he was following with his fingertip would be a rough terrain, but it would be less likely to have bandits.  However the threats of wildlife and potential elven spies were higher.  Was there even _one_ damn path that wasn’t like marching a platoon through enemy territory?  He grew discontent with the silence from whoever entered.

“If you’re not going to say anything, then kindly just leave whatever it is at the door and leave.  I don’t have the patience to molly-coddle anyone.”

“Cullen,” his eyes fell shut in pain at the sound of Moira’s voice.

“Please, I really can’t do this right now.”

“Then when?”

“This whole thing…was a mistake, Moira.  We never should have tried for something more.” His heart screamed at him to shut up.  To stop.  It was a lie.  It was a painful, disgusting lie.  He hated himself even more but what could he do?  Maybe they weren’t right for one another after all?

Her silence weighed more heavily on him than if someone had placed a yoke upon his back attached to a cart loaded with iron ore.  He clenched his fists.  He heard her turn and walk to the door.  She paused, “you were never a mistake.”

He flinched at the sound of the door quietly latching.  He would have rather she screamed at him or slammed the door.  He choked on his emotion.  He grabbed the nearest item and sent it sailing.  It was a carving Rylen had made him on a birthday two years past.  It blew to pieces.  He heaved deep, anguished breaths and leaned back against the couch.  He shoved the butt of his palms against his eyes.  He was a cursed man. 

He managed to compose himself somehow by the time Max came in.  They finalized the plan and route.  All in all, it only took an hour.  Plan, back-up plan, and a fallback plan were set up.  He scribbled it down.  Max then took the plans and left Cullen alone in his cabin.  Nothing but the crackling fire broke the hush surrounding him.  He refused to see them off.  He _couldn’t_.  He also didn’t miss when Cass came in, grabbing Moira’s chained weapon and cloak.  The woman had sighed and shaken her head at him.  He ignored it all.  He stood before his fireplace as the daylight died down and he was left with the small fire in the hearth as his only source of light.  The sound of horse hoofs clopping down the road faded in a short time.  His door opened and closed. 

“You let her go…”

Cullen didn’t look at Rylen.  He didn’t answer either.

“…are you daft, mate?!”

“It was dream, Ry.  A lovely dream, but a dream none the less.  I was never meant to love or be loved.”  His words sounded hollow even to his own ears.

“Horseshite!”

Cullen glared over, “you’ll never understand.”

“Aye,” Rylen nodded, glaring right back, “you’re right about that.  I won’t.  Because I know how rare true love is.  And you just let it fall through your hands and ride off into the sunset without a backwards glance.  You fecking idiot.”

“If being with me was going to hurt her so much, then I had no business trying to hold onto her in the first place!”

“Do you even hear yourself?!  Is this _Cullen_ speaking?!  Or is this the fecking insecurities _Hawke_ dredged up?!”

“This is _me_ realizing that I _have_ to let her go!!!”

“No…no, this is you _pushing her away_ so that you can justify your own self-hatred,” Rylen sighed and shook his head.  He threw his hands out in a show of vexation.  He trudged to the door and turned around, pointing at Cullen.  “If it were _me_ , I’d saddle my Maker-fucking horse and ride like the very Fade was chasing me after my love.  I’d kiss her and tell her that I accept it all.  Just as she tried to do for me.  You know what your biggest problem is, Rutherford?  For a man who gave _so much_ to an Order of faith…you _lack_ faith the most.”

This time the door did slam.  Cullen turned to look at the door.  Rylen’s words hit him harder than they should have.  Pup whined from his bed.  Cullen slanted his gaze to the mabari who gave him a forlorn look before turning around on his bed.  Even Pup disapproved of him.  Cullen couldn’t stand there any longer.  Not in the house he could still feel, smell, and taste her presence in.  He left his cabin and walked to the tavern.  He planned to drink himself into a stupor. 

…..

Max hung around for a few days after the others had left before heading back to Ostwick.  He promised to be back in at least a month’s time.  Cullen spent most nights with a bottle of whiskey or buried in missives.  Weeks trekked by.  Not a bloody word.  Not one.  For all he knew, the mission failed.  Moira could be dead in a ditch somewhere.  Every time that thought surfaced, he dismissed it in fear of it.  No matter how much he tried to push her from his thoughts, she always resurfaced.  He dreamed of her.  Her body writhing and moving with his.  Her laughter.  Her touch.  But most of all, that tortured parting phrase repeated in almost every dream at least once. 

_You were never a mistake._

He sat in his armchair with his half-bottle of whiskey dangling in his fingers.  Pup had taken to laying by the front door for the past two months.  Cullen had no doubt it was in hopes to being right there when he believed Moira would come home.  He didn’t have the heart to tell the canine that his lovely mistress might not ever come home.  He stared into the flames of his fireplace.  Lifting the bottle to his lips, he barely made a face as the liquor burned a trail down his throat.  A knock came at his door.  He called out for them to enter.  Pup perked up only to drop his head once more as Barris stepped inside.

“We spotted him.  He’s stuck around nearby villages, begging.”

Cullen’s eyes darkened, “which one?”

“To the south.”

“You took him north, correct?”

“Yes, Commander.”

Cullen nodded and stood.  He tossed the half empty bottle into the flames.  The alcohol ignited as the glass shattered.  “Have my horse saddled up.”

“…are you certain this is a wise decision?”

Cullen slid a scathing glare to the other man who straightened.  Barris inclined his head and stepped back outside.  Cullen moved to his storage closet.  He withdrew the all too familiar blade from within alongside his shield.  His silverite plate armor followed suit along with his fur lined cloak wrap.  Donning his gear, he strode from his cabin to where his horse was saddled and ready.  He climbed onto the steed.  Rylen stood nearby.

“Someone should come with you.”

“No,” Cullen shook his head once, “this is something I must do.  Keep things under control in my absence, Rylen.”

Rylen sighed, “aye…and Cul?”

Cullen eyed him with a raised brow.

“Do us all a favor and make him really pay.”

A dark smirk spread over Cullen’s lips.  “I intend to.”  He dug his heels into his steed’s flank.  The hooves of his horse kicked up clods of dirt as he rode hard for the village to the south of them.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah. This chapter was hard to write. I've been dreading this part, where the FULL past of Moira comes out. I really wasn't sure if I should even write this chapter at first, but honestly...it kind of just HAD to be written, you know? This entire chapter made my heart HURT soooo badly. Ugh!


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter Twenty-Seven  
Till the Day I Die**

The fire felt good in the cold night.  Moira held her gloved hands up to the campfire.  Varric was busy scribbling away at his paper while Cass sneered at him.  The city of Solas had been a very interesting place.  They had found that the elf by the same name _had_ been there.  But he was long gone now.  However, they knew a bit more about what he’d been doing there.  All the elves in the city save for perhaps two or three had disappeared with him.  Those left behind said that he promised them freedom from not just the masters that held them but also from the Dalish Gods.  Not only that, he spoke of a place that was between worlds for them to gather and amass their strength.  He was looking for something though.  Some form of artifact or _key_. 

Moira stretched her legs out, trying to ignore the discomfort in her stomach.  Although she had eaten earlier, it wasn’t settling well.  Hawke came to sit beside her. 

“The more I see you swing that gadget about, the more I think I might fear you.”

She snorted at that, rolling her eyes.  They had fought yet another band of bandits.  Whoever thought this route was a good idea was either daft or really had no idea what the terrain held.  She rolled her head on her shoulders.  Hawke chuckled and moved behind her. 

“Mind if I…?”

She glanced over her shoulders and shrugged.  What the void?  Why not?  He settled his large, calloused hands on her shoulders.  His thumbs dug in and she groaned.  A chortle behind her was telling enough.  She dropped her head forward as he smoothed his thumbs up her neck. 

“Where did you come by such a weapon, anyhow?”

“Par Vollen…”

“I beg your pardon?  I’m certain I just heard you say you got that from Qunari-land?”

She snickered, “yes.  I did.  Off a dead Vint, too.”

“Well aren’t you just full of mystery?” His hands dropped.  Moving back to her side, he gestured at her, “better?”

“Yes, thank you.  Hawke?”

“Hm?”

“Does…does Merril _really_ use blood magic?”

He scrunched his nose, “yes and no.  Yes, she does.  But no, it’s not like the idiots we’ve known.  Hers is more…rooted in old Dalish magic.  She doesn’t use it to summon demons or binding.  She draws on her own primal mana in order to cast stronger protection spells, activate arcane items…things of that manner.  Not everything is as…simple as the Chantry would love to have us believe.”

“She doesn’t seem the kind to summon demons.”

“No, not generally at least.  So what’s your story?”

“I’m not a story teller, sorry.”

“Aw, come on, Stormy!  We all would love to hear your story!  Everyone’s got one,” Varric piped up.

Even Cass shifted toward them, trying to hide her eager expression.  Moira shook her head as she stared at her boots, “look, I’m really not…I can’t.”

“Why not?” Varric prodded.

“Some stories were just not meant to be shared,” Moira stood and stepped away.  “Excuse me.”  She wandered into the dark, frozen woods.  The threat of snowfall loomed over them.  She paused beside a tree and quickly handled her business.  She washed up in the icy stream.  She went to stand and felt light-headed.  She stumbled, grabbing for a nearby tree.

“Whoa there!”

Moira felt hands catch her flailing arm.  She swallowed and blinked her eyes.  She blinked and looked up, “thank you…”

“Yeah, careful there.  You all right, Moira?” Hawke used her actual name.  She must have worried him a bit.  She nodded.

“Just a bout of dizziness, that’s all.”

He frowned at her, “just dizziness?”

“Yes?  Why?”

“Just…curious is all,” he looked far more than curious.  “How are you holding up, really?”

Moira scoffed, “if it’s not blatantly obvious, then you shouldn’t be asking.”

Hawke sighed looking away.  He looked like he was weighing what to say when his face turned sharp and aware.  He spun around and grabbed his staff while sliding her more behind him.  He slammed his staff into the ground.  A glimmering spell erupted around them, blocking a rather large electric spell that smashed into his barrier.  Moira withdrew her weapon, sliding her feet apart to fight.  She spun and let it loose as someone thought to sneak up on them from behind.  She ducked and rolled as the man swept a spear at her.  That was a problem.  She dodged away from where Hawke was launching spell after spell around.  He spun his staff and sent a shower of fireballs out into the woods.  He ripped open a man’s stomach with the wicked staff blade at the end.  The man fell to the ground, trying to somehow stop his innards from slipping from his body.  Moira spun to the side as the spear-wielder thrust it at her.  She knocked it aside and flung her curved blade at him.  He ducked and flipped his handle up, catching the blade.  She cursed loudly as it ripped out of her hands.  The chain stinging through her hands.  She was now weaponless.  The man took the weapon, eyed it and threw it aside into the icy stream. 

She felt enraged.  How dare he cast aside her weapon as though it were useless?  She summoned her magic, knowing she had to fight with it now.  She pulled a fire spell forth and sent it at him.  He threw himself to the side.  She turned to follow him but caught her foot on a slippery rock.  She careened sideways and into the stream.  She spluttered as she rolled to her feet.  A boot caught her rib and she flipped over and was slammed into the water again.  Her head smacked a rock and was submerged.  She panicked as hands held her under.  She clawed at anything she could reach blindly.  She was pulled out to be punched and re-submerged.  She fought with a desperation she didn’t know she even had.  She felt the darkness creeping into her vision.  Her body began to convulse.  She was drowning and there was no way to stop it.  She felt the black swim over her vision as her muscles betrayed her.  They went lax and she screamed internally; but even that felt weak.  The last thought she had was, _so…this is how I die?  Wouldn’t Cullen be proud?_

_….._

_That warm smile.  She felt herself mold against his naked body.  Her hand settled on his chest, drawing lazy circles on his lightly haired chest.  His arm was wrapped snugly around her.  Her left leg was draped over his left thigh and tucked beside his right inner thigh.  His amber eyes swam with love as he looked down at her.  His fingers played with her brunette hair.  She smiled back at him.  His lips moved to press into her brow.  The way he made every little thing feel momentous filled her with such a sense of completion.  She sighed and snuggled against him._

_“I’m sorry, Moira.  This is a mistake.”_

_She gasped, finding herself alone in the bed.  She sat up, searching for him.  His back was to her as he faded from her sight.  “No!  Cullen!  Wait!  Please!!”_

_But he was gone…_

Moira jerked awake and moaned dismally.  She shifted only to still.  Naked, warm flesh pressed into her back and wrapped around her.  She blinked her eyes; they grew larger by the second.  What the void was going on? 

“Well hello there,” Hawke drawled over her shoulder.  “I was beginning to worry you weren’t going to wake up.”

She rolled over quickly and stared up at him in horror, “H—Hawke?!”

“No need to be so surprised, Lovely,” he chuckled before he leaned back, propping his head on his left arm.  “You gave us all quite the scare.  Then again drowning and hypothermia aren’t exactly kind bedfellows.”

It all came rushing back to her.  She covered her face and let herself sink further into the bedroll.  “Why are you naked?”

“Now, now, I kept my smalls on,” he teased her but then sighed, “my magic tends to be fire based mostly.  Plus I always seem to run a little warmer than others by nature.  It only made sense for me to be the one to keep your body temperature level and sustained.  Trust me, your Seeker certainly gave me _quite_ the dirty look over it.”

Moira sighed, letting her hands fall.  “You seem to have a knack for trying to save me.”

He shrugged.  Moira plucked at a stray string of the bedroll.  Hawke shifted and cupped her face.  She looked at him askance.  “You really scared the shit out of me, Moira…I thought you were…”

She was about to tease him when he suddenly pressed his mouth to hers.  She gasped in shock.  He seemed to take that as invitation.  She was completely unable to move for a full minute before she shoved him away.  She scrambled from the bed, covering her breasts from his eyes.  At least they had kept her smalls on.  She stared at him, wide eyed, and shivering violently.  Hawke stared back at her, his own apparent surprise at her reaction showing on his face.  His face fell then.

“You still love him.”

“I never _stopped_ loving him.”

He shook his head and moved to sit up, “why?  Why do you love him?”

“Why do you hate him?”

He cast her a dark look, “you know damn well why.”

“He didn’t kill her.”

“He might as well have!”

“Garrett Malcolm Hawke,” Moira snapped out his full name taking a small amount of pride in the shock that flit over his face, “you _weren’t there!_ You didn’t see what _he_ did.  You didn’t _live through what he did!  He has never forgiven himself for what happened to her!_ He can’t as long as _you_ keep dragging him back down into the sea of loathing he holds for himself!!  Why can’t you let him go?!”

“I can’t believe you _still_ fight for him!  He cast you aside!  He didn’t bother to even say _goodbye_ knowing he might never see you again!”

“He let me go because he felt he couldn’t keep me!  Not while he’s till tormented by the past that _you_ won’t let him leave behind!  He has done _everything_ he can to be a better man!  For fuck’s sake, you don’t even know _me!  Not really!_ We _all_ have pasts that are dark!  Done things that we regret!  Don’t tell me you don’t regret everything surrounding Anders!”

Hawke looked as though she’d smacked him.  She wanted to.  Maker, she wanted to.  He sighed, draping his arms over his knee.  She tried to find something to wrap up in.  It was so fucking cold. 

“Come here,” he finally spoke quietly.

“No thank you.  Not after you tried to kiss me.”

“I didn’t _try,_ ” he rolled his blue eyes, “but that’s beside the point.  There’s no need to have you catching your death again.  I swear I’ll keep my hands to myself this time.”

Moira eyed the bedroll, “I’ll be fine with just the bedroll by myself.”

“You really don’t trust me!”

“Not with my naked body, no!”

He gaped at her, “I have _never_ forced myself on—”

“I wasn’t saying that!  You’re a very handsy man, now get your arse out of the bedroll and get dressed!  I’ll be just fine from now on!”

Grumbling, Hawke shimmed free and glowered at her as she stole the bedroll while he dressed quickly.  He swore colorfully about the damn frigid air.  When he was dressed, he held his arms out to his side.

“Happy now?”

“Very, thank you,” Moira replied glibly.

He rolled his eyes.  “I’ll go find something for you to eat and drink now that you’re awake.”  He ducked out of the tent. 

There wasn’t even a full minute before Cass ducked inside with a stack of clothing.  Moira’s clothing to be exact.  The pleased smirk on her face made Moira blush.  “You overheard all of that, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

Moira huffed and took the offered clothing with a small smile.  “Thank you, Cass.”

“It is my pleasure,” Cass sat down across from her.  “I am…happy that you still love Cullen.  Or should I say, that you never stopped.  He is a _good_ man, despite Hawke’s prejudices.  And you are right, he has fought so very hard to be a better man.”

“I know,” Moira said softly as she tugged her clothing on. 

“…then why did you not go to him before we left?”

Moira paused in lacing her vest.  She closed her eyes, “I did.”

“Oh…I don’t understand.  If you did then why--?”

“I hurt him more than words could possibly do justice, Cass.  I…I didn’t go to him when he needed me to the most.  I fled.  I was so stupid and now I have to pay the price of that idiocy.”

“What could you have done that could have made him feel such?”

“…he told me about what happened with Solona Amell in Kinloch.  And I…I didn’t know what to say.  He reached for me and I…I didn’t reach back.  I just stood there.  I should have held him.  I should have done _something_ other than just stand there like a fool; gaping in horror.”

“I have never seen Cullen so…well, utterly destroyed before.  A man doesn’t feel so strongly for a woman he does not love whole-heartedly.”

“Cass, I had no business forcing him to tell me about Solona.  I…I didn’t even tell him all the truth about the templar who tormented me in Ostwick’s circle.  I…I didn’t want him to look at me differently.”

“Surely you can’t believe Cullen would love you any less?”

“Maybe, maybe not…” Moira smiled sadly at Cass as she finished tying her vest.  “Doesn’t much matter now, does it?”

Cass looked at her with sympathy.  Hawke stepped into the tent bearing food and a steaming mug.  Moira took the offerings.  She scarfed most of the food down and chugged half of the mug.  It was a type of warmed, spice wine.  The wine warmed her from the inside.  She sat back on her arms. 

“How many more days…?”

“We’ll be reaching Cumberland by the end of tomorrow,” Cass answered her.

“Then the damn ship across the Waking Sea…goody…” Moira mumbled as she drank down the rest of the wine.  If she was lucky, she’d actually get some sleep that night.

* * *

 


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter Twenty-Eight  
Let Me Enlighten You**

Moira never thought she’d be so happy to see Ferelden again.  But even as they rode closer and closer to a certain templar village, she felt a pit of apprehension settle further and further into her gut.  Even Varric’s poor jokes couldn’t keep her mind off of the fated meeting.  She was aware it had been over a month and a half since she’d left.  Cass rode beside her for a grand part of the trek through Ferelden.  It was nearing nightfall when the familiar glow began to illuminate the hill ahead.  Moira squared her shoulders.  She wasn’t certain what to expect.  If she was asked to leave, she would do so with her head held high.  She couldn’t imagine a very warm reception.  They crested the hill.  It was literally downhill from there to the village.  A spotter called out their approach.  They rode into the village and drew up to the stables. 

She dismounted Grizzly and pat her neck.  Nothing looked all that different.  How much could have changed?  She mentally slapped herself for such a stupid question. _A lot_ could change.  She braced herself as she handed off Grizzly to one of the stable-hands.  He was new.  So there was change already before her.  She noticed then that Cullen’s horse was gone.  For some reason that only made her feel worse.  Cass suddenly stared striding off.  Moira watched her.  Rylen was walking toward them.  Cass met the man halfway and they began to talk.  Not wanting to really play twenty questions with Rylen or anyone else for that matter, Moira slipped around the back of the stables.  She took the long way around to Cullen’s cabin.  She climbed the steps and swallowed thickly.  She pushed open the door.  Pup lifted his head from where he laid by the table.  He chuffed excitedly and jumped up. 

Dropping down, Moira hugged the excited mabari as he rushed to her.  He nearly knocked her over.  Well, at least _this_ hadn’t changed.  She laughed and rubbed his neck.  With a sigh, she shut the door and tugged off her boots.  She moved for the bedroom and peeked inside.  It looked the same.  Same bed, same bedding.  She quickly scanned for anything out of place that didn’t belong to her.  It was stupid really.  She mentally berated herself for such a silly thing.  But she couldn’t help it.  She checked the entire home and found that it was basically exactly the same as she’d left it.  Save for two things.  A wooden sculpture she knew Rylen had made for Cullen was splintered in a far corner as though it’d been thrown and never picked up.  The second was the shattered glass in the burned out fireplace.  She frowned at that, reaching inside the fireplace to retrieve a piece with her gloved hand.  It was rather thick.  A bottle maybe?  Why was there a shattered bottle in the fireplace?  She tossed it back in.  Deciding upon a hot bath until he eventually made his way back home, Moira went to see if her clothing was still in the drawers.  It was.  Just as she’d left it.  Retrieving a clean, comfy outfit, she moved to the bathing room and drew a bath.  She soaked for at least an hour before she finally stepped out and dried off.  Dressed in clean clothing, she stood in the bathing room towel drying her hair.  It was well past nightfall outside now. 

The slam of the front door made her jump.  She frowned, moving toward the exit.  She stepped out as Cullen leaned heavily on the table.  At first, she thought perhaps he was drunk.  Then she spotted the bit of blood dripping from his side to the floor.  A gasp tore from her lips.  He snapped to attention so fast, it shocked her.  His sword was out and his eyes were narrowed.  He glared down his blade at her.  She froze in place, not daring to move.  He was…well, magnificent.  He stood, battle ready, in the kitchen before her.  She slowly raised her hands up.  His sword lowered.

“Moira?”

“Cullen,” she answered back.

“What…what are you?  When did you…?”

“An hour or so ago?” She bit her lip, “d—do you want me to go?”

He stared at her.  The pause wasn’t reassuring.  Averting her eyes to the floor, Moira tried to bite back the sting of rejection.  She’d done this.  She knew that.  But her eyes caught sight of the blood that still dripped from his side.

“You’re bleeding…”

“Not as much as it looks like.”

“Why are you bleeding?”

“…because I was in a fight.”

Moira looked up then, a frown on her lips.  “Why were you--?”

“Would you stop asking?!”

Moira snapped her mouth shut.  She sighed, shaking her head.  She should have known better.  Swallowing her pride, she turned and quietly shuffled toward the door.  She grabbed her cloak and boots.

“Where are you going?”

Moira raised her eyes to the ceiling, fighting the tears so hard it actually hurt.  “I can tell I’m not wanted here.  And I can’t even be mad about it.  I _know_ you’re angry and you have every right to be.  I screwed up.  And I’m sorry, Cullen.  So…so sorry.  But I won’t stay here and pretend that I’m not as broken as I feel.  I’ll try to get anything that belongs to me in the morning and then I’ll leave.  For good.  There’s no need to keep us both in misery.”

“Moira, I never said I didn’t _want_ you.”

“You never had to…”

“I,” he sighed, “please stay.”

She turned to look at him, “Cullen, I can’t keep going back and forth!  You say this was a mistake; Maker only knows _why_ I even showed up here.  Now you’re asking me to _stay_?”

Cullen pinned her with such a suffering gaze, “I lied.  Like the idiot I am, I _lied_ to you.  I thought you hated me.  Why wouldn’t you?  I’m the reason for so much death.  Especially to mages.  Solona…I did that, Moira.  I was cruel and I—”

“You didn’t kill her, Cullen!  Yes, you were cruel.  You were unkind!  Who hasn’t been?!  You cannot _always_ be the one held accountable!!”

Cullen’s voice was soft as he asked her something that made her flinch, “why didn’t you tell me about…what Levenshire made you do?”

So much emotion flooded her.  She shook and clenched her hands in her cloak, wringing it tightly.  “I…I didn’t know what you would think of me…”

“You say I can’t always be the one held accountable, that I shouldn’t continue to blame myself?  Shouldn’t you also listen to the same advice?”

“You didn’t do those things to Solona, Cullen.  I _did_ kill my own…” Moira choked on the word.  “I did it.  He didn’t even really force me.  I was terrified and stupid and…what kind of life could I give a babe _there?_ Did…did Trevelyan tell you?”

“Yes,” Cullen grunted as he moved to sit, holding his side, “when he told me I was an idiot for not chasing you.  In fact, Rylen also mentioned that.”

“You’re bleeding,” Moira stepped closer but hesitated.  He watched her.

“I am.  Maker, Moira…I’m not going to toss you out.  Nor will I shove you away.  Quit acting like a terrified animal.”

“Can you blame me?”

“I, no…no I can’t,” he conceded.

Moira held her breath before she pushed past her insecurities and approached him.  “How did you get injured?” She asked again, softly.

Cullen averted his gaze, “I hunted a rabid animal down and put it out of its misery.”

Moira carefully probed her fingers near his wound.  From what she could tell, the injury was hardly more than a deep scratch.  There was no need for so much blood.  He shifted to give her better access to his small wound. 

“As I said, I’m not bleeding as much as it looks like.”

Moira pursed her lips, “yes, I see that.”

She set to work releasing the clasps that held his armor onto her larger frame.  He was rather helpful with the effort to remove his armor.  When he was finally down to his blood soaked top and breeches, she lifted the sticky material.  She asked him to hold the shirt for her while she bustled around grabbing a cloth and a splashing a bit of hard liquor onto it.  She knelt on the floor, not caring that she was kneeling in the blood that had dripped from the sodden material of his clothing.  She cleaned his wound.  He hissed and clamped his jaw tightly.  Once it was properly cleaned, she healed it.  It only took minimal effort on her part.  His tension relaxed inch by inch until he was sitting far more laxly. 

“This was made by a blade, Cullen.  Not an animal’s claws,” she glanced up through her lashes at him. 

He sighed, running his gloved hand over his face.  The scratch of days’ old stubble rasped against the leather stretched over his hands.  “I’m unsure what you want me to say?”

Thinning her lips, Moira sat back.  “Would the truth be too much to ask for?”

He shot her a dark look.  She knew.  It was rich, coming from her.  She sighed and shook her head, moving to stand.  He caught her by the shoulders, “I killed Levenshire.  This is his blood.”

Moira hadn’t been prepared for that.  She lost her ability to hold herself up on her knees.  She sank back onto her heels.  Her eyes blinked slowly.  “I—I…was this because of what Max told you?”

“I wish I could say it was Max who ordered me to do this.  But I did of my own free will.  When he told me what you…left out…Max also told me that I should have killed him.  I am inclined to agree; thus why I am literally dripping in blood.”

Moira studied the amount of the viscous, crimson liquid.  It was not a quick death.  That much was a given.  Did she dare ask?  What did it change to ask?  What could it change if she did?  What could it change if she _didn’t_?  She took a deep breath, “please tell me.”

“Moira, no.  You already know enough of my monstrous side.  I cannot—”

“Then don’t hide it from me.  If you expect me to be yours fully, then be _mine_ fully.  Give me _every_ side of you.  No matter how…dark it may seem.”

Cullen measured her with his gaze before he leaned forward onto his elbows.  An exhaustion she knew intimately drew over his face.  She’d not slept properly since she’d stupidly let him walk away in those woods.  “The senior officers and I agreed upon this action.  Barris, Rylen, Adelaide…they all sent scouts out in every direction.  When he was found to the south of here yesterday evening…I rode out.  I found him.  He was—” Cullen’s lip curled, “holding a woman ransom for lyrium.  Her brother is a smuggler.  When he saw me, he ran.

I gave chase but I didn’t catch him.  I let the chase drag out into the thick of the woods.  Perhaps that was wrong of me.  I didn’t think to care.  I hunted him like the animal he was.  He fell to his knees and begged for me to have mercy when I did catch up to him.  He must have known that was not to happen.  He used a dagger to attack me.  It didn’t last nearly as long as I believe he’d hoped.  I knocked him to the ground and I used my sword to relieve him of his head.  I then dragged his corpse through the woods to a clearing to burn.”

He watched Moira so intently as he spoke.  She was completely immobile.  She swallowed several times.  She licked her lips before speaking, “the amount of blood on you…”

“Is from his severed neck.  I tried to make it quick enough but…” He shook his head, looking at his hands.  “I admit that in my haste and lack of sword usage, the blade was nowhere near as sharp as I’ve kept it in the past.  It was not as…clean as I would have preferred.”

“Do you regret it at all?” Her voice barely breached a whisper.

He raised his eyes back to hers, the conviction laid bare.  “I would do it again without a second thought.  Max was right.  We never should have let him go,” he frowned.  He moved his hands to knit together, “this changes the way you see me, doesn’t it?”

“It does,” Moira admitted, “but not the way you think.  How can I be angry or upset with you for finishing what I tried to do?  I wasn’t lying when I said I thought I killed him.  I’m unsure of how he survived.  When I asked you to be objective, it was to protect you.  Not me.”

“You never had to protect me!”

“Didn’t I?” Moira scoffed, “you _still_ hold yourself responsible for what happened at Kinloch and Kirkwall!  You don’t even see all you’ve done _since_ then.  You have _saved so many_ , Cullen.  Between the Inquisition and this very village.  That’s not a small thing.  _My_ past was never a burden you should have had to bear!”

“Then don’t carry mine!” He snapped back. 

She huffed, indignant.  He was right and she hated it.  She crossed her arms petulantly.  Neither would look at one another for a long time. 

“Can you forgive me…for my foolishness?” His question was so gently voiced. 

Moira turned back.  His gaze was still averted, but his posture told the entire story.  “If there were something to forgive, I would in a heartbeat.  I’m the one that let you walk away when I should have run to your side.  I should have told you that night.  I should…should never have withheld things from you.  Cullen, _I’m_ sorry…”

His eyes found hers and he shook his head.  He moved his arms, beckoning her.  She shuffled her knees until she was able to hold him.  She inhaled his scent as though she’d been holding her breath for all this time apart.  Even though the thick, coppery smell of blood tainted the air…it didn’t stop her from clinging to him tightly. 

“I regret my anger with you.  I had no place yelling at you that night.  You were right.  Even if you hadn’t told me everything, you _did_ still tell me what you could.  I should have told you of Solona long before.”

“Then let’s just agree that we both royally fucked up.”

He snorted into her shoulder, “sounds fine by me.”

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Moira moved to stand.  She gave him the room to also rise. 

“Just so that…I am completely clear on this.  You’re home to stay?  With me?”

Moira felt her eyes prickle with the threat of tears.  She nodded, letting a small smile break free.  “I’m home to stay…with you.”

He sighed, relief flooding his face.  “Thank the Maker.  I’ve missed you so.”

“The feeling is very mutual.”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~"Reunited, and it feels so good..."~ 
> 
> /Cough. Ignore that. Dumb joke. Dumb, dumb joke. That aside; they're back together! I promise! Still a few things to iron out between them, but when did the course of love run smoothly?


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter Twenty-Nine  
Take Everything Away**

Cullen could not describe in words how it felt to not only sink into a hot bath but to hear Moira moving about his home again.  He pinched himself a few times to be _absolutely certain_ he wasn’t dreaming.  With the sharp pain and the reddening, angry welt each time, he’d sigh and recline further.  He closed his eyes.  Moira was humming a faint tune.  It floated into the bathing room from the main room.  As he listened, he couldn’t help but feel he knew the tune.  Like a faint memory.  It hit him eventually.  Leliana would hum that from time to time under her breath while at war meetings back in Skyhold.  Moira stepped into the bathing room setting a bucket and mop inside toward the back.  Cullen frowned then.

“What are you doing?”

“Cleaning up.”

Cullen sat up further, “you’re not cleaning the blood up, are you?”

“No, I’m cleaning up your botched attempt at gardening,” she replied flatly. 

Cullen glared at her, “Moira!”

“What?!”

“It’s _my_ mess!  I should be the one cleaning it!”

“ _You’re_ a mess.  Clean _that_ first.”

He groaned, running his wet hands over his face.  “Woman…”

“Man…” she retorted right back in the same exasperated tone.

He blinked at her before he laughed, dropping his hands into the water.  “Maker, I _missed_ you.”

She smirked, “finish bathing.  I’ll have some supper ready soon.”

“When I asked if you were staying, I didn’t mean for you to do all… _this_.”

“When will you get it through your thick head?  I _want_ to do this.  I _want_ to take care of you.”

He sighed and sank back against the tub, “I’ll be lenient this time.  I’m too damn tired to fight with you tonight.”

“Aw, that’s disappointing.  If you’re too tired to fight, you’re too tired for sex,” she sashayed out.

Cullen gaped after her, “that’s just cruel!”

Her voice floated back toward him, “the truth is cruel, love!”

He decided to finish his bath quickly.  Once he washed, head to toe, he stepped out and dried off.  He saw the bucket in the corner.  She was probably waiting for him to finish his bath to dump the dirty water down the tub drain.  He tucked the towel around his hips securely and moved the bucket over.  He dumped it and rinsed the bloodied water down the drain and out of the bucket.  He carried the bucket and mop out with him to put back into the storage closet. 

“I dumped the bucket for you, love—”

A shrill whistle made Cullen stop mid-step.  Hawke stood in the entryway alongside Varric.  “Well, that’s a sight I’m not sure to forget anytime soon.”

Varric chortled, “oh believe me, I’ve seen a _lot_ more than that of our fearless Commander.”

Cullen’s cheeks flushed, “what are you doing here, Hawke?  Varric?”

Moira stepped back out from the lavatory and frowned at their uninvited guests. 

Hawke crossed his arms, “well, I thought you may wish to know how things went.  Certainly didn’t take you long to get him naked, Lovely.”

Any embarrassment Cullen may have felt fled in the sight of jealousy.  Pure, potent, and volatile in his veins.  _Lovely?_

Moira looked over at Cullen; her eyes traveled his body.  Her eyes met his and he saw the hunger there.  That helped abate some of the jealousy raging through him.  She turned back to Hawke, shrugging.

“What can I say?  He’s not exactly _hard_ on the eyes.  Unless you’re planning to hit the road _now_ , this can wait until tomorrow, don’t you think?”

“Is that an invitation to stay in town a bit longer?” Hawke purred in a way that made Cullen want to throttle him.  No.  Kill him.  Yes.  Kill him.  Slowly and painfully.  He thought over the fact Moira had been traveling with this man for the last two months.  Nothing happened between them, did it?  The way Hawke looked at Moira was _not_ merely platonic or friendly.  Cullen should know.  He’d seen the man give enough lecherous, inviting looks to women of all walks of life to know what Hawke’s intentions were.

“No, by all means.  The road is outside.  Feel free to make yourself acquainted with it if you so desire.  If this can’t wait until tomorrow, then please leave long enough for Cullen to get dressed.”

“Aw, you take all the fun out flirting.”

“With you?  Absolutely.” Moira sighed, “so?”

Hawke flashed a frustrated look at her before he turned on his heel, “yes, yes.  We can wait until morning.  But you should come join us for one last pint at the tavern, Moira.  After all, we grew quite _close_ during our time together.  That kind of bond should be celebrated at least one last time!”

Cullen’s stomach dropped.  Varric grimaced beside Hawke.  The dwarf turned to start ushering Hawke out, presumably before Cullen lost his temper and caused another problematic scene.  However, the door iced over and the room fell several degrees colder.  Hawke turned slowly to regard Moira with a wary expression.  Cullen could feel the rise in mana from Hawke to accompany Moira’s own.  What the void was happening here?

“You really want to do this _here?”_

Hawke blew out his breath in a puff that was visible in the magically chilled air.  “I don’t see why not?  Shouldn’t your beloved know about our…heated evening?  Wrapped up in that bedroll?  Naked?”

Cullen was going to be sick.  He didn’t want to hear this.  Here he’d been, fucking pining after her and she’d spend a night with _Hawke_ of all people?  She _knew_ how Cullen felt about him!  He shook; and not from the cold.

“Yes, _let’s_ tell him,” Moira’s voice came out as frigid as the room around them.  “Shall we start with how you followed me into the woods to talk?  Then the bandits that jumped us?  The one that got the upper hand against me and bashed my fucking head against a rock and then preceded to hold my head underwater in an icy stream?  Nearly killing me?  Then the fact that _you_ have an affinity for the school of fire magic and were the one tasked with keeping me warm through the night so that I didn’t die of hypothermia?  Or was it the kiss that I shunned after I woke up that you _really_ want to go over?  I told you _then_ where we stood, Hawke.  If you dare to keep pushing this subject and making it sound like there was _more_ just to dig further at Cullen…I’m warning you.  I _will_ make you regret it.”

Hawke looked angered, his fists clenching.  The Champion finally laughed; the sound forced.  “Well played, Lovely.  Well played.  On that _rather happy_ note, I’ll be going to grab that ale now.”

Hawke stalked from the cabin.  Varric stood by the door.  “Well…shit.”

“Go ahead, Varric.”

“You sure?” Varric cast a glance past her to Cullen.  Cullen refused to acknowledge the dwarf’s look. 

“Really?” Moira drawled, waving her hand around her as if that should answer his question well enough. 

“Right, right.  I’m going…” Varric paused in the doorway, “we _are_ leaving tomorrow either way.”

Moira nodded at him.  He slipped out and closed the door behind him.  Moira retracted the iciness around the cabin.  She turned sheepishly around.  “Cullen…I—mmff!”

Cullen had taken the time it took for her to gather herself to cross the short distance to her.  When she turned, he pulled her flush with his body and covered her mouth with his.  He was still jealous.  He would _never_ not be jealous of another man’s presence around her.  But knowing that she had nearly died?  Even _he_ was grateful to Hawke for keeping her alive.  The pride he felt at knowing she’d shunned Hawke as well only added icing to the cake.  She melded into him and slid her hands up his bare chest.  She moaned low in her throat.  He bent to lift her up.  She hooked her legs around his toweled hips.  Oh how this woman could undo him with but a sound, a touch, or a look.  He shuffled to the bedroom and set her down on the edge of the bed.  Moira pulled back, yanking her clothing from her body in a frenzy.  She crawled backwards from him. 

Cullen was having none of that.  He rose up onto the mattress and stalked after her on all fours.  The towel had loosened and fallen off the moment he’d stepped foot into the bedroom.  She bit her lip at the sight of him looming closer.  He decided he was done chasing.  He grabbed her ankle and yanked her swiftly to him.  She yelped then erupted into giggles as she slid her thighs along his sides.  He grinned down at her.  That sound was beyond sexy to his ears.  He dipped down to taste her lips.  She responded immediately and sighed as he delved into her mouth to explore.  His hands were everywhere and yet he couldn’t touch enough of her.  She arched into his touch.  His hands molded over her perky breasts and began to massage and roll them under his palms.  His mouth trailed away from her lips.  He placed open mouthed kisses along her jaw, throat, pausing to dip his tongue into the hollow of her throat, continuing down until he captured one of the two prizes he sought.  She hissed and bowed for him. 

He smiled around her nipple.  It was a hardened little pebble for him and he enjoyed rolling it around his tongue; teasing her into breathless mewls.  He left the one to lavish the other with the same attention.  Her hips rolled toward him but he held himself far enough away from her.  One of the things about being taller than she; he could hold himself from her in order to draw out her pleasure.  Her frustrated huff only gave him more incentive.  He’d had to be without her for two full months.  He was going to savor this.  He’d dreamed over and over again of her back beneath him.  Just like this. 

But then again, this woman was hardly a patient being.  She hooked her leg onto his side and threw them so that she was now hovering over him.  Cullen laughed, shaking his head.  How had he not seen that coming?  Moira smirked down at him.  She bent to peck the tip of his nose affectionately.  

“Sorry, but I’ve waited two months.  I’m not in the mood to draw this out.”

Cullen wanted to retort but it died immediately in his throat as she sank down upon him.  He groaned low in his throat at the way her heat enveloped him.  His hands moved to steady her as she set the pace.  He bent his knees up to aid in pushing up as she came down.  Moira whimpered as she bounced on him without shame.  He loved watching her breasts bounce with the way she rode him.  She bit her lip and leaned down closer to his lips.  He nipped at her mouth teasingly.  Her next long moan was so sweet and sexy.  He groaned as her walls began to flutter around him.  Oh, he was so close.  He grasped her hips and rolled his hips in just the way he knew would grind on her clit just right.  She answered with an elongated whine.  It only took one more good grind and she was falling apart.  Her walls clamped around him making his eyes want to roll back into his head.  Maker but how she tightened around him in a way that made him nearly see stars.  He lost control of his rhythm as he bucked wildly into her.  Her lips pressed against his ear.

“Come for me, love…”

Oh fuck.  Cullen shouted loudly as he came, deeply buried into her sweet little sheath.  He stilled; muscles taught as he emptied his seed.  He spent himself fully and sank back into the mattress, boneless.  He panted as she laid atop him.  A smile on her lips as she watched him.  He smiled back lazily. 

“Maker…I _missed_ you.  I _missed_ this.”

“I’m not sure you noticed,” she snickered, “but I missed you and this too.”

He laughed, running his hands up her back.  “You are…beyond compare, Moira.”

“No, I’m not.  I’m just a broken soul who found love in another broken one.”

He pushed up enough to cradle her with one arm while holding them up with the other.  He kissed her brow.  She made a sound that bordered on indecent.

“Are you all right?” He asked, concern coloring his face.

“You _really_ have _no_ idea how you affect women, do you?”

“…I—I beg your pardon?”

“Beg away.  But when a man with muscles like those casually lifts himself up while easily holding a woman up?  That just oozes sexy.”

Cullen smirked, “so, are you asking me to flex my muscles for you whenever you desire?”

“Mm, would you do that for little me?”

“For you?” He grinned, “anything.”

Her laugh was music to his ears.  He bent to kiss her deeply; this one unhurried.  He poured his entire soul into that one simple kiss.  She shifted in his lap to cup his face as she kissed him back with just as much passion and emotion.  Cullen wasn’t a man who cried easily; he’d seen too much.  _Done_ too much…to cry easily.  But her kiss…it brought tears to his eyes.  He felt her tears pitter-patter down upon his bare chest.  He could even taste the saltine on his tongue.  His arms moved to hold her tightly.  There would never come a day when he would let go of her again.  Not even _he_ was that foolish.  The kiss trailed off into shorter, smaller kisses until they sat with brows pressed together. 

“Cullen, I love you.”

“And I love you, Moira…Maker only knows how much.”

“Don’t ever let me walk away from you like that again,” she sighed, “it almost destroyed me completely.”

“Moira,” he lifted her face with his hands to look her deeply in the eyes, “believe me when I say…I am _never_ letting go of you again.  I _did_ kill a part of me that only came back to life when you came through that door.  I…am a broken man.  I am not perfect.  I am flawed and my anger is…well, unbecoming.  But I swear to you upon my parents’ graves—I am _never going to lose you again._ ”

Moira smiled winningly at him, “good.”

Cullen rolled to the side, both falling down upon the mattress.  He yanked the blankets open to shimmy under and tucked her against him.  Where she belonged.  She settled within his arms right where she was always meant to be.  She ran her hands idly over his chest before her breathing evened out and she fell fast asleep in his arms.  He closed his eyes and allowed himself to fall asleep.  For the first time in longer than he cared to admit; he fell into a peaceful sleep. 

When the morning light slanted over his face, he jolted awake.  He immediately reached for Moira.  Terrified it was a dream; he sighed loudly in relief when his hand grasped her warm thigh.  She hummed and rolled over, smiling at him drowsily.

“Still here,” she mumbled sleepily.  Always able to read him like an open book.  She shifted closer and snuggled back into his side, “not a dream.”

He draped his free arm over his face, trying to reign in his pulse once more.  He tightened his left arm around her to the point his muscles trembled a bit with the effort.  She cupped his face.

“Love?”

He couldn’t look at her right now.  If he did, she’d see the tears in his eyes.  So he swallowed thickly and tried to stamp it back down.  Just finding her back beside him, it was a tremendous release off of his shoulders.  He felt _whole_ again.  And he also felt like such a fool for ever shoving her away in the first place.  The thought he couldn’t stop rolling over in his mind was what she’d said yesterday to Hawke.  She’d nearly _died_ when she was so far from him.  He’d never…he _couldn’t_ live with himself if—

“Cullen?”

He shook his head.  He didn’t wish her to see this weakness.  But she was having none of that, she sat up and turned his face gently toward her.  Her small hands gently lifting his arm.  He inhaled sharply and let her move his forearm.  She blinked in the face of his raw emotion.  She reached forward and oh-so-tenderly began to wipe his stray tears. 

“I nearly lost you and I was such a damned fool…I wouldn’t have…how could I live with myself if—”

“Shh,” she leaned over and kissed his cheeks, “you didn’t lose me.  I’m right here.”

“But if I ­ _had_ , Moira…”

“Cullen…I will always come back to you.  Even if I have to crawl.  I think we both know it was inevitable for me to return here…”

He breathed deeply and cleared his throat.  His hand lifted to comb through her hair, “your hair grew a bit…”

“Yes, and it’s more unruly than before.  The blasted waves just do their own thing.  I think I may cut—”

“No!”

She raised her eyes at him before smirking, “you like it this way?”

“Yes,” he smiled sheepishly, “it’s lovely.  A piece of you that I adore.”

“I wish we could laze about in bed all day,” she bemoaned, “but we have much to go over.”

“Duty calls,” Cullen agreed, “but after?  You’re _mine_.”

“I can live with that.”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know about you, but a man crying makes me want to cry too. If my husband or dad start tearing up...I fucking lose it man. Bawling. Even if I have no idea what's upsetting them. Every. Single. Time.


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter Thirty  
** **I'll Be Coming Home**

Hawke leaned on the wall beside the fireplace.  His eyes were trained anywhere but Moira or Cullen.  It was probably best for the time being.  Cullen was before the table, arms banded over his broad chest.  Varric had planted himself directly in the middle between the two men.  Rylen was near Cullen while Cass stood at the other end of the table.  Merril sat upon the couch, sipping her tea.  Fenris leaned on the opposite side of the fireplace from Hawke, but facing the fire.  Moira had chosen to curl up beside Pup.  The mabari was in heaven.  His head in her lap.  He kept turning to nuzzle her tummy which only made her giggle and bend down to kiss his head. 

“Solas was not in… _Solas…”_ Cass spoke, rolling her eyes at the absurdity of the statement, “but he _had been_ there.  We acquired information.  Apparently, he is seeking a _key_.  An artifact that will allow him to fully destroy the veil and bring his plan to fruition.  But there is a catch.”

“Honestly, _anything_ will be a blessing I think,” Rylen sighed, rubbing his brows. 

“What is this catch, Cass?” Cullen asked, eying to the map intently.

“It’s in the hands of a Tevinter mage,” Hawke stated, “and from what I was able to glean, they _are not_ sympathizers to his cause.  Nor, however, are they keen on the Chantry of the South or North.”

“Wait, so…allow me get this right,” Cullen spoke, raising his hand, “there is a Tevinter mage, not _magister_ , that is a potential ally in this cause against Solas?  That isn’t Dorian?”

“I wouldn’t get my hopes up, Curly.  They aren’t a _fan_ of Chantry politics.  I don’t know if they’d even be happy to work with _you_ …former Templar or no,” Hawke sighed.

“Then we are back to square one,” Cullen growled. 

“Not…necessarily,” Moira hedged, “there is a chance…that perhaps they might still work with those who do not stand with the Chantry at all.”

“…what are you saying?” Cass stood and looked at Moira.

Moira waved toward Hawke, “Hawke has never been a… _fan_ of the Chantry either.  Especially since he supported the mage rebellion _and_ _is_ a mage,” she looked at the man in question then, “would you be willing to at least extend an invitation for Trevelyan to speak with the mage in Tevinter?  If, after that, this mage still won’t work with Trevelyan at the very least…then there isn’t much else _we_ can do.  Is there?”

“Are you saying we, what, give up?” Cass straightened, shaking her head in dismay.

“When does this fight _stop_ being _yours_?” Moira looked up at Cass, “Trevelyan, Hawke, Cullen, _you_ …haven’t you proven _enough_ to this world?  Maybe… _maybe_ it’s time to instill our trust in someone _else_ to take the helm.  You don’t have to give up.  But maybe it’s time to lend support to another to face this instead.  We can’t all be heroes forever.”

Cass frowned, averting her gaze to the floor, “so we…extend our help should this mage need it but…we _encourage_ them to take over the mission to stop Solas?”

“I don’t see why not,” Moira spoke softly.

“It’s a risky move, lass…”

“ _Life_ is a risk, Ry,” Moira countered.

“We have given enough.  _All_ of us.  It’s time to trust someone else with the fate of world.  The Hero of Ferelden entrusted Hawke with Kirkwall, Hawke entrusted Trevelyan with Corypheus.  Perhaps it _is_ time…to let someone else take the burden now,” Cullen spoke, “we aren’t getting any younger.  I cannot imagine us continuing this fight until we are all too old to even hold a blade.  How many more graves must we dig before we realize it is _no longer_ our fight?  It hasn’t been for some time now, has it?”

“Shit, Curly…” Hawke sighed, “even I can’t argue that.”

“I…so that is it?  We are just done?” Cass looked torn between bewilderment and anger.  “What of Max’s voice in this?”

“Josie’s pregnant, Cass,” Cullen said softly, looking up at the other woman, “he told me the last time he was here.  I think…we _owe_ it to him to let him have this future with his wife.  Maker only knows he’s given enough.  As…has Hawke.  So _we_ handle this.  We inform this Tevinter that we will back them should they but ask; but we are going to entrust Solas to them.”

“Then that’s settled,” Hawke clapped his hands together loudly once, “I’ll be riding north to deliver this message then going home.  Maker, when was the last time I was _home?_ Varric!  Is my house still pretty?”

Varric snorted, “you really think Orana and Bodahn let it fall to ruins?”

“Oh, thank the Maker!  Think my cellar stores are well fermented by now?”

“If they aren’t vinegar, they’ll have one hell of a punch!” Varric chuckled.

“Sounds like a drunken homecoming party to me,” Hawke grinned. 

“I will head to see Max and Josephine, give them my congratulations.  Then I suppose I will return to the Seekers,” Cass mused.

“You know you’ll always be welcome to visit here, Cass,” Cullen offered.

“I know, and I _will_ take you up on that, Cullen.  Some of the Seekers would test even Andraste’s patience.  Miss Moira, take good care of our Commander.  Should you break his heart again…I will personally break your legs in recompence.”

Moira smirked despite the warning, “I will keep that close to heart, Seeker.”

“Good.  Do that.  I’ll be going now,” Cass moved to the door.  She swung her cloak on and left without a backward glance. 

“I suppose that’s our cue,” Hawke drawled as he stood.  Moira moved to her feet as Merril rushed over to hug her.

“Oh!  I do so wish to see you again, Miss Moira!  You are such a lovely person to talk to!”

“Take care of yourself, Merril,” Moira hugged her back and stepped back.  “Take care, Fenris.”

“I always do,” Fenris nodded to her as he passed her and stepped outside with Merril.  

Moira walked over to Varric and bent, but not by much, to hug him.  He laughed, “don’t worry about the Seeker, Storm.  She’s more bark than bite.”

“Says you,” Moira snorted as she straightened, “ _you’re_ short enough to dodge her blows easier.”

“Hey now!  I resemble that remark!” Varric moved to Cullen and clapped his upper arm, “try not to do anything you’ll regret, Curly.”

“Your concern is heartwarming, Varric,” Cullen rolled his eyes as the dwarf walked outside. 

Hawke moved up to Moira and stopped.  He glanced at Cullen who was watching them closely while trying to pretend he wasn’t, “I’d hug you but I worry I may not come away from the embrace with all limbs still attached.  So,” he held out his hand to which she grasped his forearm, “take care of yourself, Lovely.  Keep Curly in line but don’t let me be _too_ damned serious all the time.  Man needs to lighten up a bit.”

“And _you_ stay out of trouble, Hawke.”

“Aw, see?  That’s not fair!  Trouble finds me regardless!”

Moira snickered, “of that I have _no_ doubt.  Goodbye Hawke.”

“Goodbye, Moira,” he leaned down to whisper, “I _am_ happy for you…”

She smiled back, “I know.”

He nodded and released her arm, using to fingers to wave to Cullen.  However, Cullen stepped forward.

“Hawke, a word?”

Hawke raised a brow, his guard going up, “sure…as long as it’s just words.  I’m in no mood for stabby shit.”

“Just words,” Cullen reassured and motioned for them to step outside.  Once they were outside, Moira turned to Rylen. 

He shrugged at her, “don’t ask me, lass.  I have _no_ idea what going ‘round that head of his right now.”

Moira lifted her thumb to her teeth, worrying the nail as she watched the door.  Several long minutes later, Cullen stepped back inside.  There were no bruised forming, no cuts, or blood.  So at least it hadn’t come to blows?  She was grateful for that, but beyond curious.  Cullen walked over to the table.  He began to lift the map markers and settle them in their holding box. 

“So…now what?” Rylen asked, watching Cullen’s movements curiously.

“We continue our work here,” Cullen answered easily.  “We provide a home, a sanctuary, for those recovering from lyrium.  We will need to build more cabins soon.  I’m going to send word to Divine Victoria that we…will be accepting mages who desire to break their ties with lyrium as well.  They should have a safe place to recover as well.  It’s about bloody time Templars and Mages come together truly.”

Rylen smiled at Cullen, “that’s one mighty goal, Cul.  One I’m happy to back.  I’ll go inform the senior officers—”

“There’s one more thing, Ry,” Cullen looked up at his friend, “would you be able to take my place for a month or two?  It’s about time I saw my family.”

Rylen nodded, “of course, mate.  Take however long you need.”

“Moira, Pup, and I will be leaving in a few days’ time then.  Oh, and Ry?  Would you just tell Addy you adore her already?  You two are making me sick with your puppy dog eyes and _very obvious_ wandering hands.”

Rylen blushed deep crimson and swore in his native tongue while storming for the door.  Moira laughed at his expense.  He left her and Cullen alone.  She looked at Cullen then. 

“ _We_ ’ _re_ going?”

“Of course,” Cullen smirked up at her as he rolled up the map.  He moved to put it away in the back of the cabin where the bookcases stood.  He shuffled things about up there before he moved back to her.  She opened her mouth to ask him if he was sure when he sank to his knee before her.  A small wooden box in his hands.  He held it up, opening it, and grinned up into her shocked face, “after all, if you happen to say _‘yes’_ to being my wife…it is only right to meet my family…”

Moira covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes wide.  She nodded enthusiastically and dropped to wrap her arms around his shoulders.  His chuckle at her response made her remember she hadn’t _voiced_ her affirmation.  “Yes!  Maker, yes!”

He slid the small band free; it had a lovely small sapphire embedded in the golden ring.  He took her hand and slid the ring upon her finger.  “I may have…taken the liberty to measure your finger in your sleep back before—well…all of _that_ …”

“You—Cullen, did you… _make_ this?”

He smiled awkwardly up at her, rubbing his neck, “it’s…been on my mind for a while?  Do—do you like it?  I can always make another or _buy_ you one—”

“No, this…I…” she choked off and threw her arms back around him.  “Am I dreaming?  Or is this real right now?”

He sighed, moving his arms around her, “Maker, I hope it’s not a dream for I never want to wake if it is.”  He cleared his throat, “I—I would have liked to ask your father for his blessing.”

“He would have given you his blessing,” she sat back, wiping at the tears.  Did she ever stop crying around him? 

“Moira, the man he knew then—”

“He still believed you were a good man who survived a horrible ordeal.  He told me himself after I found him.  I’m certain papa and mama are giving you their blessings from the Maker’s side right now.”

“Maker, but you are perfect…”

“Not hardly,” she snorted.

“To _me_ you are.”

“We should eat, I’m starving.”

Cullen nodded with a soft laugh, “of course, love.”

…..

South Reach was far warmer than Moira had anticipated.  After spending the majority of her years between the Free Marches and traveling _everywhere_ Thedas had to offer; she had nearly forgotten how Southern Ferelden felt.  The open, rolling farmlands were quaint but lovely in their own rights.  Grizzly snorted and bobbed her head as they passed an orchard.  Moira leaned forward and pat the mare’s neck affectionately. 

“I know, I know…apples.”

Cullen chuckled beside her atop his own mount, “I promise we’ll gather some apples for the both of you once we get in.”

His own horse snorted once.  Moira smirked at both her love and his massive steed.  The gorgeous deep chestnut colored Ferelden born horse was easily a few inches taller and wider around than Grizzly.  Moira sat back, eying the road before them once more.  They’d not had to deal with bandits even once.  Which was…rare.  Pup padded along between both horses.  Did they really make such an intimidating sight?  Well, maybe Cullen and Pup.  She was used to being dismissed as a petite, easy target.  She spotted a dancing, serpentine tendril of smoke rising from beyond the next hilltop.  Cullen nudged his steed a bit and nodded at her to do the same.  The horses both began to trot forward.  The hill was crested in a few minutes’ time and a tiny village came into view.  They led their horses down a side-road leading further into the country.  However, it wasn’t too much longer before a large farmhouse with two smaller houses on either side of it with a large barn, stable, and hayloft further beyond.  They were halfway to the stables when the door of the farmhouse burst open.

Cullen pulled his horse to halt before grinning broadly.  He quickly dismounted and rushed forward to catch the younger woman as she vaulted into his arms with a squeal.  He spun the strawberry-blonde around, crushing her tightly.  He was grinning widely before pulling back enough to kiss the woman’s brow.

“I take it you received my letter?”

The woman laughed, “you think?”

Moira took the time to dismount and grab both horses’ reigns.  She watched the exchange.  Cullen turned to her, motioning.

“Rosalie, this is Moira.”

Rosalie gasped and looked up at Cullen, “truly?” At his nod, Rosalie looked back at Moira, “Maker, you’re so lovely!”

Moira blushed and laughed, “well, thank you.”

“Oh!!  I can’t believe it!” Rosalie walked with Cullen over, she looked like she wasn’t sure what to do with herself before she finally just threw her arms around Moira, “welcome!”

Moira glanced at Cullen in amusement before hugging Rosalie back, “thank you for the warm welcome, Rosalie.”

Rosalie accompanied them on the way to the stables.  Pup keeping pace with the younger woman as she prattled on about everything and anything.  Unlike with others though, Moira found the woman’s voice to be pleasant to listen to.  It was soft, yet strong.  Grizzly went into the stall willingly but bumped her hard enough she nearly stumbled. 

“All right, all right!  I’ll get you a blasted apple, you spoiled brat,” Moira groused.

Cullen laughed as he walked over from where he’d put his horse up.  His own horse was chomping happily at an apple or two.  Moira eyed the two apples he held as he approached.  Grizzly whinnied excitedly as Cullen set the apples atop the oat bag. 

“There you are, Grizzly.  I promised, didn’t I?”

Moira smirked as she watched her horse ignore him completely in favor of her tasty treat.  They made their way back to the main house.  A carriage pulled up out front as they were crossing the distance from the stables.  Three boys, easily around four, six and eight came fumbling down out of the back.  They were play fighting with sticks.  A woman with the same shade of golden locks as Cullen slid down with an eyeroll. 

“You three!  Andraste preserve me!  You’re going to be the death of me!”

The man at the reigns snickered, “ _you_ were the one who told them to wait until they were _out_ of the carriage…”

“Oh, hush, Bran!  You’re not helping!” The woman huffed as she pulled a large basket down from between them.  She looked over at them and the basket hit the ground.  She gasped, “Cullen!  Maker’s breath!  When did you get here?!”

Cullen strode across the space and bent to pluck the basket up, “just now…”

“I didn’t know you were coming!” She looked over at Moira, a stunned expression on her face, “Cullen?”

“Hm?” Cullen finished gathering the vegetables into the basket as he stood again.  He followed her line of sight and smiled, “Mia, I’d like you to meet Moira.”

Moira waved from where she stood with Rosalie, “it’s nice to meet you, Miss Mia.”

The brunette man Mia had called Bran guffawed, “miss?  Aw, no need to be so formal!  Especially if Cul brought you _home_ to meet _us_.  I’m Branson, by the way.  Rosie, have you introduced her to Blythe yet?”

“We quite literally _just_ got their horses put up in the stables, Bran… _no_ , I haven’t introduced her to your wife yet.”

“I wish you would have written us, you silly man!” Mia chastised with an exasperated sigh. 

Cullen side-glanced at Rosalie, “I _did_ , actually…”

Rosalie grinned, completely unrepentantly, “what’s the point of a nice surprise when you know it’s _coming_?”

Mia glared at the youngest Rutherford sibling, “it is called proper planning, Rosie!  I could have planned a proper meal!  Dusted and cleaned out the second cabin!  Not to mention made sure everything was taken care of!”

“I _already_ cleaned the second cabin today,” Rosie said smugly, “and Blythe helped me tidy the main house.  She’s already started a lovely rabbit stew and bread is in the oven.  And _yes,_ I told her because she agreed you lot could use a nice surprise _and_ also a night off from being a blasted mother hen.”

“I am _not_ a mother hen!” Mia protested.

Moira couldn’t hold it in any longer.  She began to laugh, holding her sides and wiping tears of mirth from her eyes.  Cullen smirked at her, “welcome to the Rutherford household, Moira.”

Mia flushed, “oh…Maker, look at me!  Making such a scene in front of a guest!  Come on in, Mi—Moira.  Please come into our home, Moira.  Boys!  Get inside, change your filthy rags and wash up for supper!”

The three boys hollered back an affirmative before they turned to whack each other once more for good measure before racing one another across the lawn.  Bran shook his head and clapped Cullen’s shoulder.

“Why don’t you help me put the carriage and horse in for the night?”

Cullen nodded, letting Mia take the basket from him.  He leaned over and pecked Moira’s cheek quickly before moving to climb into the carriage with his younger brother.  Moira followed Rosalie and Mia inside where another woman was bustling about the kitchen.  When she heard them enter, she turned and smiled broadly.  Her stomach was fully rounded out with babe.  She waddled over.

“You must be Moira.  It’s so wonderful to meet you, I’m Blythe.  The brunette brute out there is my husband.”

Moira snickered and shook the woman’s hand, “the dashing brute gene must run thickly in the blood.”

Mia blurted out a startled laugh, setting the basket down on the table, “you know Cullen well then.”

Rosalie coughed into her hand, “I’ll say…”

“What does that mean?” Mia turned to frown at Rosie before turning back to Moira. 

Moira shifted on her feet awkwardly.  She didn’t know what Cullen expected for announcing to his family.  She shrugged, “I uh…we…like each other?”

Rosie and Blythe both fell into a titter of giggles before the pregnant woman turned away to tend to the large pot of stew.  Mia frowned at them both suspiciously.  Moira smiled apologetically.

“I don’t wish to spoil anything Cullen may have to say…”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know in game it says Cullen has the one nephew. I like to imagine he has more. I love the idea of Mia having boys already and then Bran's little guy with them. LIke a second brood of Rutherfords, y'know? In this fic, he has three nephews and one unknown on the way.


	31. Chapter 31

****

**Chapter Thirty-One   
I’ve Hungered for Your Touch**

“She’s very lovely,” Bran stated as he unhooked the horses from the yokes.  Cullen smiled to himself.

“She is.”

“Well?”

Cullen looked over at his brother.  Branson was two, possibly three inches taller than he.  If that were even possible.  At first it had made Cullen feel…uncomfortable.  Having his _younger_ brother look _down_ a bit at him?  But he’d come to grow used to it.  Bran was the spitting image of their father.  It was no wonder he was so broad and tall; and Cullen wasn’t exactly _short_ or _small_ for a Ferelden man.  He sighed, running his gloved hand over his head.

“I’ve asked her to marry me,” Cullen admitted.

Bran grinned back at him, “did she say yes?”

“Well, she’s _here_ isn’t she?”

Bran snorted, “and she hasn’t turned tail and run off yet!That’s a good sign.”

Cullen nodded, “one can only hope…”

“There’s something else.  Something you’re trying to figure out _how_ to say.”

“How the bloody void can you read me like that?” Cullen grumped as he led the one horse to the stall opposite Grizzly.  Grizzly neighed at him.  He paused and rubbed her snout.

“Wow, that is a gorgeous mare!” Bran paused beside Cullen, “is she Moira’s?”

“Yes, and she’s a very loyal, protective steed.”

Bran frowned, “is she a mage, Cul?”

Cullen stiffened, glancing over at his brother.  How should he answer?  He couldn’t _lie_ to his brother.  But he also wasn’t entirely sure how his family would take the news of him marrying a mage.  Even though he’d been to see them once or twice since the Inquisition disbanded…it had _never_ come up.  Probably for the sake of keeping his feelings safe.  They always tried to avoid discussion of Kinloch or Kirkwall around him.  It was appreciated.  He turned to lead the horse the rest of the way and tuck it into the stable. 

“Yes…but she’s unlike other mages.  She practically loathes her magic.  Only uses it when absolutely necessary or to heal.  She’s the best blasted healer I’ve _ever_ seen, Bran.  She’s saved _my_ arse more times than she should have.  Maker, she’s…the most loving woman.  She gives _everything_ without expectations in return.  She accepts my faults, my temper, my…my fucking stupidity.  She gives me tit for tat and—Maker she’s just… _there_.  No matter what.  Even when she could have easily punched me in the face and walked away.  She still came back to me.  I…” Cullen turned.

Bran leaned against the pillar between the two stalls housing his horse and Moira’s.  His arms were banded over his chest, his right foot hooked over his left, and a rather smug look on his face.  Cullen frowned back.  Bran chuckled, “and you _love_ her.  You didn’t have to defend her to _me_ , Cul.  If _you_ bring home a mage you intend to marry, there’s a bloody damn good reason.  Besides, she sounds like she doesn’t take your shit sitting down.  _That’s_ what every Rutherford needs, Cul.  Someone who’ll take our temper and toss it right back.  You think Blythe is all sweet smiles and mild temper?”

“No,” Cullen smiled, “I can tell she puts you in your place often.”

“Ha!” Bran pushed off the pillar, “come on.  If we take too much longer, Rosie will come out and drag us inside.”

“She truly didn’t tell any of you I was coming?”

“Nope, little shit.”

Cullen shook his head, “she’s still that little trouble-maker I knew even back as children.”

“No, Cul…she’s _worse._   She’s a full-grown woman with a head full of mischief.”

“…wonderful…”

“Exactly.”

The two brothers strode up onto the large wraparound porch.  They paused to knock the dirt and soot from their boots before stepping inside.  Cullen spotted Moira sitting in the chair nearest the fireplace.  She held a book in her hands with all of his nephews seated on the floor.  She read the book with animated, lively gesticulations.  All three boys were completely absorbed.  Mia watched on with a warm smile as she sat in the other armchair, knitting away.  She caught his eye and nodded in that way he knew.  It was approval.  His chest swam with pride as he watched his future wife make a loud explosion sound as she made her hands move like a gaat-lok powder barrel had gone off.  The boys giggled and leaned forward.  She finished the book and snapped it shut. 

Aaron jumped up, “another!”

“Aaron!  Manners!” Mia snapped in that mother-knows-best tone.

“Oh…um, _may we please have another_ , Moira?” Aaron amended.

“After supper,” Moira leaned forward with a smirk, “I’ll even read you _two_.”

“Really?!” Michael gasped.

“Really,” Moira nodded once.

Mia laughed, “go help your aunties set the table, boys.”  Once they both rushed off to do just that, she turned to Moira.  “You’re a brave soul, Moira.  Those boys get the best of me, Maker-only-knows…”

“You too, Elijah, go help your mother,” Bran jerked his chin at the youngest boy who followed his cousins into the kitchen.

Moira shrugged, “kids are simple enough.  It’s adults that scare the void out of me.”

Cullen moved to sit before her on the floor, leaning back against Moira’s knees.  She instantly dug her fingers into his hair.  He leaned his head back, sighing at the soothing touch.  Mia watched them closely before she cleared her throat.  Cullen rolled his head to regard his elder sister. 

“Emerson should be coming home shortly,” Mia stated as she fussed over another stitch. 

“Is business going well?” Cullen asked politely.

Mia nodded, “yes.  Especially since a certain Templar village drew up a contract for a special mulled cider.  It seems that a few taverns between South Reach and said village have tasted some of the cider and wanted to also contract a few kegs a month…”

“Maker, really?  I wonder how that happened…” Cullen drawled with a smirk. 

Mia smirked right back, “perhaps it was the Maker’s will?”

“Must have been,” Moira added, “sounds like the Maker’s work to _me_.  Then again, most alcohol imbibing _must_ be the Maker’s will.  Why else would he give us the where-with-all to ferment fruits into such a lovely drink in the first place?”

Mia laughed softly, “that’s one way of looking at it.”

Cullen sat up straighter, “Mia…I have something to tell you.”

She nodded at him as she looped some yarn over the needle, “I figured as much.”

He felt Moira’s hand squeeze his shoulder encouragingly, “I wanted to tell my family in person.  I intend to be wed.  Moira is my intended…”

Mia smiled in that way that told him she already pieced that together, “you’ve never spoken about nor brought home a companion until now, Cul.  It was easy enough to assume your intentions.  Moira, welcome to the family, dear.”

“Sorry I didn’t answer your questions earlier,” Moira answered, “I didn’t want to take away from Cullen telling you himself.”

“You were interrogating my wife-to-be?” Cullen accused.

“ _No_ , I was following a line of thought until I pieced the puzzle together at last.  The rest was just waiting for you to _tell_ me.  Silly boy, you forget.  I _know_ you better than most.  Now, may I see the ring?”

Moira skootched forward and tugged her gloves off, holding her hand out.  Mia cradled Moira’s hand with a gasp. 

“Maker’s breath, Cul!  It’s gorgeous!  Wherever did you find it?”

“He _made_ it,” Moira answered proudly.

Mia turned to him with disbelieving eyes.  He scratched his chin and averted his gaze, “I…rather wanted it to be unique, like my love…”

“You bloody sap,” Bran snickered.

Mia shot Bran a sharp look, “and what’s _your_ excuse?  You journeyed _three days_ to find the perfect ring for Blythe.”

Bran glared and huffed, but his cheeks flushed with color as well.  Moira giggled behind Cullen.  Cullen grinned back at his brother’s embarrassed face.  Oh, Mia.  She always had _such_ a way with making one feel utterly shamed with but a sentence.  She’d definitely inherited their mother’s sharp tongue.  The door opened and a large, ruddy bearded man stepped inside.  He paused at the sight of Cullen.  A huge grin lit up his entire face.

“Cullen!  What a surprise!”

“It wasn’t _intended_ to be a surprise…” Cullen shot Rosie a look. 

Rosie shrugged and continued to slice the warm bread for dinner, “you didn’t say I _couldn’t_ keep it a surprise.”

“Oh Em, Cullen brought his betrothed to meet us.  Emerson, this is Moira.  Moira, this is my husband.  Emerson Abrams.”

Emerson stooped into a polite bow, “a pleasure, Moira.”

“Are _all_ Ferelden born men so…huge?” Moira asked softly with a lilt of humor.

Emerson’s belly laugh filled the house, “’fraid so, my dear!  Now, where’s my own strapping boys?”

“PAPA!!!” Came the two shouts from the kitchen before a thunder of feet paraded forth.  Emerson stooped to catch his sons in both large arms, hoisting them up under each arm.  They erupted into giggles and kicking limbs.

“You been good boys?”

“Yes!  We listened when momma told us to!”

“…when she _told_ you to?  And did you not listen _beforehand?_ ” He set them both down and pinned them both a stern look.

“Er, well…um…” Aaron shuffled his feet.  Michael stared at the floor.

Emerson sighed and sank to his knees before his boys.  “Aaron, Michael…your mother is to be respected and cherished above _all else_.  You hear me, lads?  Now, next time…will you follow her rules _before_ she has to reprimand you?”

“Yes, ser…” both answered softly.

“That’s my boys, now come here…” He hugged both boys tightly.  Cullen turned to check the kitchen when he froze.

Moira was completely still.  Her face pale and to his dismay, tears running down her cheeks.  He shifted quickly, the motion drawing Mia’s attention.

“Moira, dear!  Whatever is the matter?” Mia gasped, setting aside her knitting.

Moira shook her head, laughing wetly.  She reached up to wipe her tears away, “s—sorry…I…it’s just…you remind me of my own papa…”

Cullen almost winced.  He reached to wipe her tears away.  Maker, why hadn’t he thought of that?  Emerson, however, gained Cullen’s respect further. 

“I take it you’ve lost him?” The man asked making Moira nod.  He hummed, “losing one’s papa is not an easy thing.  But I’m sure you have many blessed, lovely memories of him.  And if I remind you of him, then you must know he loved you _very, very_ much.  I would do anything for my boys.  I imagine your papa would have done so for you.”

Moira bit her lip and nodded, “he—he was a Templar.  A Knight-Commander, actually.  He lost his mind to lyrium.  He’s been gone for a few months now.”

“Oh, dear…” Mia sighed reaching to settled her hand on Moira’s knee.  “We are no stranger to losing parents here.  It’s the worst feeling.  But, at the same time, they happily would do so again if it meant we lived to see another day.  That’s just parents.  Our children are our lives.”

Blythe rubbed her swollen belly as she waddled over to Bran, “can’t say I’ll ever regret that either.”

Bran wrapped his arm around his wife’s shoulders.  He leaned down to kiss her head.  Cullen cleared his throat.  He looked at Moira, “do you need a moment?”

Moira shook her head, “no.  I’m actually far better than I would have thought.”

“And on that note!  Let’s eat!  Supper is ready!” Rosie blurted out.

The supper was far lighter and jovial than the earlier conversation.  Bran and Rosie wound up tossing chunks of bread at one another after teasing each other relentlessly.  Mia reprimanded them both like children.  Blythe rolled her eyes at her husband’s antics.  Emerson chuckled and asked Moira questions about what she’d done in her life.  To Cullen’s surprise, she told them bluntly that she was a mage from Ostwick.  Cullen saw with that admission…he had worried over nothing.  Rosie asked her plenty of questions about magic and the like.  Mia was also just as curious.  However, not one person was nervous or uncomfortable.  As promised, after dinner, Moira settled down to read the boys another set of books.  This time, with the knowledge she was a mage, she used little spells here or there to make real, tiny sparks or special effects.  To say his—no… _their_ —nephews adored it all was an understatement. 

The boys were put to bed with loud whines and protests that they wanted to spend more time with their _‘new aunty.’_ After, Moira insisted on helping clean the kitchen.  Cullen also insisted upon helping her.  Blythe was beyond pleased with that.  She was tired and it was easy to see.  Bran and Blythe bid everyone goodnight and headed to their own small cabin to the right of the house with little Elijah tucked into Bran’s arms.  Mia and Emerson weren’t too long behind them.  They said their goodnights as well.  Mia kissed his cheek and even Moira’s.  Emerson hugged them both before the two meandered upstairs to their own room.  That left Rosie who laid across the hearth reading until she nodded off on her book.  Cullen dried off the dish he was holding and snorted at her.  Moira glanced back and nudged him.

“You should get her to bed,” Moira whispered.

Cullen nodded, drying his hands.  He moved to his baby sister and paused as he stooped.  For a second there, he saw the tiny little six-year girl he’d said goodbye to at thirteen.  He gently lifted her and carried her to the bedroom just down the small hallway from the living room.  He laid her down and tucked her in, kissing her brow.  He turned to leave but felt her hand latch onto his wrist.  He turned back with a raised brow.

“She’s beyond wonderful, Cully.  You really deserve this happiness…”

Cullen inhaled sharply and covered her hand with his larger one, “it means more than you know to hear that, Rosie.”

She smiled sleepily at him, “you’re a good man.  The best, really.  You deserve the best and you got it.  Now go, I’m tired.”

Cullen chuckled and stepped from her room.  He moved back around and found Moira standing by the fireplace.  Pup was sleeping in the corner near the door.  He’d nearly forgotten about their fuzzy mutt.  Pup had been so quiet but hadn’t let Moira out of his sight or scent-range all day.  He’d acted that way since she’d gotten back from Tevinter.  He supposed Pup wasn’t going to let her out of his sight for a _long_ time.  As if to prove his point, Pup opened his eye and watched Moira cross the house to Cullen’s side. 

“We should probably turn into our own little cabin,” she spoke softly so as not to disturb anyone asleep.

He agreed, offering his arm.  She looped hers through and rested her hand on his forearm as he led her out into the night.  Pup was alongside her in a blink.  They reached their cabin in less than five minutes.  He shivered at the chill inside.  He moved to start a fire only to pause as Moira tugged him back.

“I have other ideas on keeping warm,” her voice dipped seductively.  Cullen smirked and turned.

“Oh?  Is that so?”

“Mm…would you like to find out?”

“Yes, please…”

She giggled and led him backwards to the bedroom door.  She fumbled before she opened it with a short laugh, “that was meant to be far smoother.  Forgive the fumbling.  First time here an all that…”

He lifted her into his arms, loving the way her legs hooked around him automatically.  “I can handle fumbling.”

“Now who’s seducing who?”

Cullen grinned, “if I recall correctly…you seem to _really_ like my shirt off.  Especially when I flex my muscles.  Just…like…so…” He emphasized with a flex of his arms as he said the last three words.  She whimpered, biting her bottom lip.  “See?”

“Shut up and make love to me.”

He laughed and flopped onto the bed with her.  It was lower than his own back home.  Her hands were hurried as she worked his clothing free of his body.  He was in no less hurry as he removed her clothing as well.  Once she was completely bare to him, he growled and lowered his mouth to hers.  She met his kiss and arched up, pressing her breasts to his chest.  He groaned at the feeling.  Maker, he would _never_ tire of this woman.  Cullen rolled so that she was on top.  She sighed and sat back from his lips just enough to grin. 

“Is that a hint?”

“I have to admit, you make a rather…enticing vision when riding me.”

She smirked and shifted so that they lined up perfectly, “then I suppose I have my challenge leveled.”

Cullen hissed as she sank upon him.  Maker, she really was made for just him, wasn’t she?  The way she fit over his length like a specially tailored glove.  He let his head fall back, holding her hips as she slowly ground upon him.  Her soft sighs and breathy moans were driving him mad.  He tried, he really did.  He _tried_ to let her have completely control.  But she _really_ knew how to make him lose it.  He felt his patience almost literally snap.  He flipped them and she grinned at him knowingly.  He laughed breathlessly.

“You minx!  You did that on purpose!”

“I’ve told you before, I _rather love it_ when you lose control.”

Cullen smirked, “now I have a challenge?”

“Mm, if you think you can meet it.”

Cullen’s eyes narrowed and his shifted the angle of his hips.  He pulled her shapely little ass up onto his knees.  She gasped before he began to pound into her sweet little sheath.  The sounds of their flesh slamming together, her gasps and cries of pleasure, his grunts and groans, and their panting breaths filled the entire cabin.  Thank the Maker they weren’t in the main house.  They would have woken the household.  Moira gave a loud cry of his name, followed by a line of curses that would have made a sailor blush.  She held onto his forearms for dear life while trying to roll her body to meet his quick thrusting.  She came with a scream that made him proud to hear.  Her legs trembled and he felt his end rapidly rushing him.  He came with a strangled shout and thrusted brokenly several more times until he finally stilled.  She laid limply; her chest rising and falling rapidly. 

“Cul…?”

“Y—yes, love?”

“That…mm…yes.”

His laugh was more a soft whoosh of breath than anything before he slid from her.  He flopped beside her and pulled her into his body’s full embrace.  She snuggled right into his chest.  He inhaled her scent and sighed in completely satiated content.  He was still surprised when he easily fell asleep now without much preamble.  With her in his arms, it was so easy to just feel normal.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I watched a cheesy chick flick the other night. It's called Falling Inn Love. Dude...duuuuuuuuuude...Adam Demos (the main lead dude) would make one hella sexy Cullen!! He even has the curly blonde hair and ripped bod! I couldn't turn it off because I kept imagining him in a fur mantle and everything...lol. I have a problem. I am aware. My husband jokingly talks about my "other husband" being Cullen... 
> 
> But seriously though? If I had a dreamcasting of Cullen, it would definitely be Adam Demos. Just have him do a thick English accent and bam! Cully!


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter Thirty-Two  
** **Colors of Your Dreams**

Four weeks passed by without much notice.  Moira actually found she really loved being in South Reach.  Cullen’s family was…they were everything she could easily imagine a loving family would be.  She loved being around them.  Rosie was a kindred spirit she could completely wile an entire day away with.  She wasn’t like other women who spoke of fashion or men.  She spoke of books, asked about magic and spells.  Rosie also loved to train in secret in the woods with a sword.  Moira found her outside, _practicing_ , in the small woods out behind the farmhouse.  Rosie had startled at the sight of Moira leaning casually against a tree. 

“Andraste’s tits!” Rosie screeched and dropped the sword. 

Moira laughed, “don’t let your sister hear that kind of talk.”

“…are…are you going to…tell her?” Rosie asked, shuffling her feet and biting her lip.

“Why would I?  You’re not doing anything wrong that needs to be told.”

Rosie released a breath, her shoulders sagging in relief.  She ran a sleeve over her sweaty brow, “Mia might have a conniption fit if she knew I came out here alone to swing a sword about.”

“Why do you think that?”

Rosie shrugged, “she’d tell me it’s unsafe for a young woman to be out in the woods.  Alone.”

“Well, now that I’m here, you’re not alone.  Are you?” Moira winked.

Rosie grinned back, “do you fight, Moira?”

“Yes.”

“Have you…killed someone before?”

“Yes.”

“Is it…as horrible as everyone says?”

“No.”

Rosie looked at her startled, “i—it’s not?”

“It’s worse.  At least the first few.  It’s easy to justify your actions.  Especially if they strike first and try to hurt you or kill you.  But the dreams?  The memory of watching the life drain from their eyes?  That never goes away.  It fades over time.  But you’ll never _forget_ it.”

“I just…none of us are fighters out here.  If someone were to come and try to hurt us?  Especially the boys?” Rosie sighed, “well, at least when you and Cully aren’t here.”

“Rosie, there is never anything wrong with planning to protect your family.  You have every right to do so,” Moira stepped away from the tree and walked over, “that being said.  I don’t think you’re a sword girl.”

“No?”

“No.  You have the strength, but your entire balance is off.  The sword is throwing you around more than you are swinging it.  You _can_ master it.  But it will take _far longer_.  If you want something that will work in a shorter term and also give you a bit more flexibility?  Daggers.  You’d do well with dual wielded blades.”

“You think so?”

“I know so, you’re only a bit larger than I and I am _not_ a sword person.  I started with daggers as well…”

“Why not just cast?”

Moira shook her head, “only an idiot relies _only_ upon magic.  If a mage is silenced or purged they are dead.  Unless they know how to fight.  Do you want me to teach you some basics?”

“You would do that?”

“You’re my sister-to-be.  I have just as much stake in your being able to protect yourself as Cullen would.”

Rosie nodded enthusiastically, “yes please!  Anything would be helpful!”

Moira spent a good part of the next several days’ afternoons in the woods with Rosie.  She taught Rosie basic forms and simple moves that if she continued practicing them would come more naturally over time.  As Moira stepped into the cabin she was sharing with Cullen, she found him sitting at the table with a glass.  He looked up at her as she stretched.

“How is Rosie coming along?”

Moira smirked at him, “you’ve known all along, haven’t you?”

“I used to train soldiers day and day out.  I know what training bruises, knicks, and cuts look like.”

“She’s coming along quite well, actually.  Though she’s still terrified of Mia’s disapproval.”

Cullen sighed, “I can understand her concern, but in this…even I think Mia would understand.  And if not, I would gladly side with Rosie upon her behalf.  If she wishes to be able to fight, I hardly see any harm in _that_.”

Moira walked over and hopped onto the table, “I’m supposed to go to the market with Rosie tomorrow.  Pup’s not letting me out of his sight.  Do you think they’ll be all right with a large war hound glued to my side?”

Cullen laughed, shaking his head, “you really were in the Free Marches too long, weren’t you?”

“Hey!”

“This is Ferelden, love.  We’re sort of dubbed the _dog lords_ by the rest of the world for a reason.  We’re _known_ for our mabari.”

Moira huffed, rolling her eyes, “yes well…”

“I actually prefer him at your side when I can’t be.”

“Doesn’t it seem odd to you though?  How clingy he’s been recently?”

Cullen coughed, looking away uncomfortably, “you…were gone for two months.  He had no way of knowing…if you’d…”

Moira grimaced, “if I’d be back.  Oh…my poor fur-baby!” She hopped down to over to where he’d flopped upon entering the cabin with her.  She knelt down, cooing at him, “momma’s never going anywhere again.  Don’t you worry.”

Pup barked happily and lapped at her face.  Moira pulled back with a small sound of mirth before she wiped her face.  The rest of the day passed by with family supper, discussion, story time for the boys, and then retiring to respective beds.  Moira rose fairly early the next morning, kissing Cullen’s still sleeping face goodbye.  She dressed and was halfway to the door when her stomach gave a small roll.  She held her hand over her belly, breathing deeply a few times.  Once she quelled the bit of queasiness, she set out.  Pup jogged alongside her to where the carriage was already to go.  Bran was in the driver’s seat, yawning loudly.  She climbed up alongside Rosie in the back. 

“Ready?” Bran called over his shoulder.

“Yes!” Rosie chirped and they were on their way.  Pup kept up pace alongside the carriage. 

Bran kept glancing down at the mabari, “he usually so paranoid about his surroundings?”

Moira frowned, “no?  I mean, he’s very protective of me.”

Rosie grinned, “imagine that…”

“Huh?  What?  Why?”

Bran clucked his tongue, “when’d he get super possessive?”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean?”

“Well, protective is a normal behavior, but clingy like this for a mabari?  That’s a bit off.  So when he’d get really clingy?” Bran reiterated.

Moira tilted her head back, ticking off days on her fingers.  It was when she got back from the mission to Tevinter.  The morning after she’d returned.  “About…five weeks now?  But to be fair, I was gone for two months.  Pup had no idea if I’d even be coming back.”

Rosie turned around to look at Bran.  They shared a knowing look and a smirk.  Bran shrugged, “eh.”

“Oh come on!  You can’t ask that many questions and leave it at an ‘ _eh!’”_ Moira growled.

“You’re a mage, aren’t you?  A healer, right?” Bran asked pointedly.

“Yes…”

“Maybe you should check yourself with your magic…maker sure everything is in order.”

Moira frowned back at him, “I’m in perfectly fine health, thank you very much.”  Except that morning.  She fully intended to throw it in his face that he was wrong; so she gathered her magic and began to check over her body as she’d been taught years before.  “Ha!  Nothing out of—Maker’s fucking knickers!”

Bran guffawed and Rosie laughed along with him.  Both looked at her.  Moira’s face was red; she could _feel_ it.  But…how hadn’t she _noticed_?!  It wasn’t like…wait…oh shit.  She _was_ late! 

“How did you know?!” She turned to them accusatorily. 

Bran pointed to Pup, “he scented your change in scent right away.  He’s protecting the youngest add on to the pack.  It’s a mabari thing.  I’m actually both shocked and a bit peeved Cul didn’t notice the change or put two and two together.”

“Well, he wasn’t home when we had old Salish and Mia was pregnant,” Rosie pointed out gently.  “We only learned that trait from Emerson’s knowledge anyways.”

“Emerson told you this?” Moira asked, trying to distract herself.

“His father was a Thedas-renowned mabari breeder.  Anyone who was anyone in Ferelden would have one of Old Man Abrams’ mabari,” Bran explained.  “So he knows a _lot_ about their behaviors.  Old Salish was Emerson’s mabari when he and Mia were wed.  Mabari _pick_ their pack.  So when Salish fell in love with Mia, Emerson knew his infatuation with her was meant to be more.  Salish was just as clingy to her through her pregnancy with Aaron and then with Michael.  He unfortunately passed away from old age five years ago.”

Moira settled her hand over her belly.  Was it really so?  Her own magic didn’t exactly _lie._ She felt another life-energy within her body.  She would know the difference between her own and another’s.  She was a healer who utilized encouraging another energy to boost the healing of an injured area.  The rest of the ride into the town of South Reach was mostly spent with Moira in deep thought while Rosie and Bran threw quips back and forth.  They pulled the carriage aside and Bran paid a horse-hand to hold the horses for them.  They then began to walk along the various stalls.  A jewelry-maker had lovely wares but nothing that really called out to Moira.  However, the blacksmith’s table drew her like a moth to flame.  Rosie was right there alongside her.  Both women looking over the blades and weapons with awe.  Rosie reached for a lovely stiletto meant to be hidden in a bodice or boot.  She lifted it and made a soft cooing ‘ooh’ sound.  Moira spotted a set of throwing knives and reached for those.  She turned the small knives over in her hands. 

“And here I thought ladies preferred sparkly bits…” The man running the stall mused with a chuckle.  Rosie blushed and set the stiletto down as though ashamed.  Moira grinned right back at the man.

“Maybe insipid fools do, but I much prefer a practical accessory.  What good does a locket do against a bandit intent upon ruining me?”

Rosie looked up at Moira then at the blacksmith.  He blinked back at Moira.  He slowly nodded, “I…well…that’s a good point, I s’pose…”

“These are finely made,” Moira complimented, “I’ll be taking these knives and the stiletto for my sister.”

“Of course, my lady,” he turned to begin wrapping up her purchases as she withdrew her coin.  In this case, she didn’t mind not correcting him.  Let him think what he wanted.  She paid him and took the wares. 

They were near a stall with baked tasty treats when Rosie mumbled, “thank you, Moira…”

“Never, ever let someone put you down for liking sharp blades over sparkling jewelry.  Women, like men, are not all the same.  Not all of us care for the gaudy finery that others adore.  Some of us enjoy the weight of a weapon on our persons; knowing we can fight back.  There is _nothing_ to be ashamed of there,” Moira smiled back at Rosie, reaching to wrap her arm around Rosie’s shoulders.  Rosie leaned against her, looping her own arm around Moira. 

“You know, I love Blythe.  She’s blunt and keeps Bran in check.  But I’m incredibly grateful the Maker brought you to Cully and us.  Mia and Blythe are…the knitting type.  I’ve never been that way.  I don’t think I could ever be,” Rosie sighed.

“The most domestic things I can do are clean and cook,” Moira snickered, “I never could knit.  Last time I tried?  I wound up trying to see if the knitting needles could be used in place of crossbow bolts.”

“No!” Rosie laughed loudly, “well?”

“ _Horrible_ idea, that.  They exploded before ever leaving the crossbow.  Needless to say, I was digging shrapnel splinters out of my arms for a full week.”

Both cackled at that as they walked through the market.  Moira’s body told her she needed to find a lavatory.  She excused herself and Rosie told her where to meet her.  The public facilities were decently kept so it wasn’t a hardship to relieve herself.  She pumped water over her hands and dried them on her pants as she stepped out.  She made her way toward the flour mill market stand.  Rosie was standing there, talking animatedly with a young man.  She laughed and shook her head, a light blush over her cheeks.  Moira would recognize that plate-armor anywhere.  The man was a young templar.  His smile dimpled his cheeks.  His dark hair was kept short but not overly closely cropped.  Moira stepped off to the side, leaning on a random barrel to watch Rosie and the man flirt.  His chuckle was kind and warm. 

“It’s good seeing you again, Rosalie,” the templar spoke softly.

“It was good seeing you too, Devon.  Or should I call you _Ser_ Devon now?”

Devon smiled, “ _you_ are always welcome to just call me Devon…”

Rosie bit her lip shyly and twirled her hair around her finger, “I—I should probably go…”

“Oh, right…yeah.  Probably best if Bran doesn’t see me.”

Rosie’s face fell just enough for Moira to see it before she smiled back at Devon.  “Take care, Devon.”

“Stay safe, Rosalie,” he looked torn between reaching for Rosie or just walking away.  He glanced down the road and stiffened.  He bowed his head sharply and spun on his heel, marching away.  Moira flicked her gaze the way he’d looked to see Bran glaring from further down the road.  Now that was an interesting turn of events…

Rosie sighed forlornly, watching Devon as he moved further and further away.  She turned and gasped when she spotted Moira.  Her face turned crimson as she made her way over.  Moira glanced over at Bran as he was cutting his way through the crowd to come their way.

“Tell me about it later,” Moira whispered before raising her voice, “well!  I know I’m ready to head home.  Are you?”

Bran paused beside them, “yes, I got the supplies Mia sent us for.  Did you find anything, Moira?”

“I did!  Throwing knives, and they are _quite_ lovely.”

Bran snorted and shook his head, “women…you’re such odd creatures.”

“Watch it or I’ll tell you wife you said that,” Moira grinned.

“She _knows_ I’m a brute!” Bran led the way back to the carriage.  He loaded the wares with Rosie’s help.  They loaded into the carriage and began the journey home.  With all the wares, only Moira could really fit in the back, so Rosie sat up by Bran.  Pup trotting alongside the carriage once more.  Once they cleared the village’s border and were a fair stretch out, Bran spoke, “Ser Devon was in the market, was he?”

Rosie shifted in her seat, staring out into the distance, “I suppose so.”

Bran sighed exasperatedly, “ _you know_ he’s no good, Rosie!”

“So you keep telling me…”

“What do you see in him!?” Bran growled, “he’s…he’s a blasted jackass!”

“Bran!  Please!  I don’t want to talk about this right now!”

“Of course not,” Bran growled, too similar to his elder brother that it made Moira’s brows raise, “you _never_ listen anyways!  Do you want to end up another notch in his belt?!”

Oh…Moira grimaced. 

“What do _you_ know?!” Rosie screeched, turning to glare at Bran.  “You are _so certain_ you know what he’s like!!  Yes!  He wasn’t the most _virtuous_ of men before!  But what if he’s—”

“Changed?!  Ha!  Don’t tell me you _believe_ that shit!?”

Moira cleared her throat loudly, making both sibling fall silent.  She pointed at something random, “what’s that in the distance there?  Looks like a fat scarecrow.  Are they supposed to be that bulbous?”

Rosie blurted out a sharp laugh, “n—no!  That’s old famer Thoms!”

“Oh…” Moira pursed her lips, “well…um…oops?”

Bran chuckled, “he likes to lean on his pitchfork every hour or so and just stare off into space.  So, no, he’s not a scarecrow.”

“Now I feel like an ass.”

“Oh don’t worry, you are,” Bran teased.  Moira rose up and smacked the back of his head.  He yelped which made Rosie snicker.

“Abusing one too!  Does Cul know you’re so mean?”

“What?  You think your brother doesn’t _enjoy_ the challenge of taming little _me_?”

Bran made a gagging sound, “oh…oh Maker!  I didn’t _need_ to hear that!!”

“Well, I apparently am probably carrying his babe so… _you_ of all people should know how _that_ happens!”  Moira was enjoying this far too much.

Bran glared at her, “ _yes!  But I’d rather not **ever** think of my **brother** that way!!”_

Moira cackled evilly, “oh poor Bran.  Your brother is _quite_ proficient in _that—”_

“AH!! MAKER STOP!!”

That was what the others heard when the carriage rolled up.  Moira’s maniacal laughter ringing out in response to Bran’s hollering at her to stop.  Cullen, Mia, and Blythe all sat on the farmhouse porch shucking corn ears.  Moira hopped down from the carriage.  Rosie was between laughing and covering her ears as she jumped down and shook her head.  Bran was red and trying to find a way to hit his sister-in-law-to-be without getting _himself_ into trouble.  Moira was grinning widely as she strode over to Cullen.  He looked up at her with a raised brow.

“Should I even ask?”

“Probably not,” she snickered.

“Your wife shares too much, Cul!!” Bran whined, pointing accusatorily. 

Cullen turned back to Moira, “what does he mean?”

Moira smirked, “he called me an ass.  So I tortured him with far too much information.”

“ _Far too much!_ ” Bran gagged again, “I’m going to be sick!”

“Oh quit your drama, Bran,” Blythe sighed at her husband.

“But—you don’t understand!  She _told me_ things!  Things that shouldn’t be shared outside!!”

Cullen’s cheeks blazed with color, “Moira!”

She shrugged unrepentantly, “it’s nothing _I’m_ ashamed of.”

“Did you really have to talk about _that_ with my _brother_?!” Cullen was completely dismayed.

“Oh come on…you think I told him the _real_ facts?”

“Wait…you—you _lied!?”_ Bran shrieked making Moira only laugh harder.

“You can’t really believe I’d _actually_ tell you _that_!”

Mia giggled, “well played, Moira.  You truly belong with this family.”

Blythe grinned, “I like you.”

“I aim to please,” Moira bowed with a flourish.  Cullen rolled his eyes at her before pulling her onto his lap. 

“Silly woman…” He chuckled as he continued his task with her secured in his arms. 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My husband and I just celebrated our 7th Wedding Anniversary on the 15th. We went roller skating. Hence why I didn't update for a few days. Almost at the finish line with this! I'm currently working on a special project for my hubby's 30th b-day coming up in October. So I may get a bit busy. <3


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter Thirty-Three  
** **Have You Ever Loved Somebody**

After supper Moira helped clean up as was her usual.  Cullen came up behind her, nuzzling her neck as he moved to dry the dishes she was washing.  She flashed him a quick smile.  Her thoughts were occupied with how to tell him.  Did she dare tell him yet?  Should she wait for the pregnancy to progress further?  No.  That would be wrong.  Bran and Rosie knew about it so she _had_ to tell Cullen.  As though sensing her distraction, he gently turned her chin to look at him. 

“If your brow scrunches any further, I’m afraid you may lose your eyes into your skull.”

His teasing tone and the way his scarred lip lifted a little more on the right side than the left made her wish to melt into a puddle at his feet.  Moira breathed a light chuckle, “wouldn’t that be quite the look?  _‘Oh no!  That woman has no eyes!  She’s all brows!’”_

Cullen shook his head with his own sound of mirth, “then they’d all ask me, _‘what happened to you wife, Rutherford?’_   Then I’d _have_ to reply, _‘her face simply stuck that way.’”_

Moira snickered, rolling her eyes.  What a thought.  She finished up the last dish and he dried it.  They hung up the drying towels and the dish rag.  They sat with the family for a while before they headed back to the cabin.  Moira tugged her boots off, kneeling to give Pup some much needed love.  Cullen turned his boots upside down to hook onto the boot rest.  He held his hand out to Moira to take her boots.  She held them out to him and he hung them upside down on the boot rest as well.  Moira watched him as he rose and stretched his back.  It popped slightly.  He glanced over at her then turned his gaze right back. 

“You’re staring,” he stated bluntly.

“Can you blame me?” She brushed it off.

“Are you all right, love?  You’ve been…off in the distance all evening.  Did something happen at the market?”

Moira hummed and crossed her arms, “well, yes, but it’s not really why I’ve been in thought.”

“What happened?”

“Rosie was flirting with a young templar named Ser Devon and he was quite flirtatious back.”

Cullen eyes narrowed, “oh, is that so?  Templar you say?  Wonder where he serves…I could write Leli in the morning—”

“Cullen!”

“What?!  She’s my baby sister!  I have a right to check up on this man!”

Moira rolled her eyes, “oh for the Maker’s sake…just, let _me_ talk to _her_ first?  Then maybe _you_ can speak to him yourself.  Thoroughly vet him that way.”

“I just may speak with him myself,” Cullen grumbled.  “What has you so deep in thought then?”

Moira wrung her hands together, “Pup’s been incredibly clingy.”

“I _had_ noticed, yes…but that shouldn’t be a surprise.  You’re his pack as I am, Moira.”

“Yes, I’m realizing just how much now.  Did you know mabari specifically guard new pack members?  Especially unborn ones?”

“Well, that would stand to reason, I suppose.  If they knew by the scent on the female that she was with young then—” Cullen trailed off and watched her closely.  His eyes moved to Pup.  Pup watched him right back before chuffing and dropping his head down atop his large front paws.  If Moira didn’t know any better, she’d swear that was Pup’s version of a depreciating scoff. 

Moira began to worry.  He was standing there so quietly; just staring.  Cullen took a step toward her.  She pulled her lip between her teeth, watching him slowly approach her like she might suddenly attack him or something.  He stood before her, sliding his hand over her hips. 

“Are you…are you saying what I think you are?” Cullen finally asked. 

Moira cleared her throat, “I…I think so.  I checked with my magic and I felt something else.  Another energy…”

Cullen looked down to her belly, his hands sliding to rest over her lower abdomen.  He fell silent again.  Moira felt her heart drop.  Was he upset?  What was she going to do if he was?  What if he didn’t…want a child?  Her throat began to feel dry. 

“Maker, is this real?” Cullen whispered, sinking to his knees.  He smoothed his hands out over her belly reverently. 

“I—is…is this okay?”

He stopped moving his hands and looked up at her, “what?”

“Are you…are you unhappy about this?”

Cullen laughed, shaking his head.  As he did so, she spotted a few stray tears on his cheeks, “Maker, no!  Moira I…I’ve always wanted children.  But I never dreamed I would be blessed with them.  I never thought I deserved a wife and children…that I would ever have that life.  The Order was my life for so long.  Then the Inquisition.”

Moira felt her knees weaken and she carefully lowered herself.  She felt such tremendous relief.  She leaned against him and he pulled her into his arms, cradling her close.  Her legs hooked around him and locked her ankles at his back.  Cullen shifted so that he was sitting on the floor completely.  They cuddled on the floor of the cabin long into the night.  Moira was beginning to nod off in his embrace.  His sudden laughter made her startle awake.

“I’m going to be a father,” he mused aloud.

“Mm, and I’m to be a momma…” Moira sighed, frowning, “Cul, should we find a revered mother and be wed quickly?”

“I would love to, but only if you wish to because you truly _want_ to wed sooner.  Not because of the babe…”

“But, Cul, the babe shouldn’t be born into an unwed home.  Your reputation—”

“Fuck my reputation,” he growled, shaking his head but not letting her sit back from him.  “I could care less what the sodding world thinks of me.  _You_ and this babe are _all_ that truly matters to me, Moira.”

Moira buried her face into his neck, “my momma and papa weren’t ever properly married…”

“Would you like to hear a scandalous thing?” Cullen murmured.  At her nod, he spoke in a conspiratorial tone, “Mia was born after my parents wed.”

Moira sat back in his lap to look in his face, “truly?”

Cullen smiled while he inclined his head, “truly.  My _wholly devout, Andrastian_ parents were not wed before…well, you know.  So far, Mia and Bran have wed before babies, yes.  But not one person in this family can possibly say a word.  I know for a fact that Bran and Blythe did not wait to be intimate until after wed either.  Blythe simply was not with child until a year after they’d been wed.  Mia and Emerson _did_ wait.  But Mia is a very…obstinate woman.”

“So if we were to wait…?”

“Then we simply wait.  Moira, as long as you are at my side until I draw my last breath, I will be the happiest man to walk Thedas.”

Moira allowed a lazy smile to spread over her face, “likewise, just swap the man for woman and that statement is for me as well.  Now, time for bed.”

She started to retract her legs but Cullen snorted at her.  He held her thighs in place and folded his legs about until he could roll onto his feet with the aid of one hand.  He pushed up and managed to rise to his feet while he held her up with his one arm under her backside.  She gave him a pointed look.

“Okay, really?!  How could _you not see_ why women ogle you so?!”

He grinned at her, “well, _that_ time was entirely for your benefit.  I seem to recall you insisting that you rather enjoy my muscle flexing and shows of strength.”

When he waggled his brows suggestively, Moira tossed her head back with a laugh.  It was such a ridiculous look on him.  Waggling brows.  His own soft laugh joined hers as he carried them to their bed.  They removed their clothing and crawled underneath the covers together.  Moira _really_ loved the fact that her handsome lover preferred to sleep in the nude.  She found she rather liked it as well.  Even though they were too tired to make love, she thoroughly savored the feeling of his warm skin against her own.  It wasn’t hard to fall asleep like this.

…..

Rosie performed a series of slashes and spins that were fluid and graceful.  Moira applauded her and gave her points of encouragement as well as a few things to improve on.  All in all, Rosie would wind up becoming quite capable over time.  She was a quick study.  Considering how quickly Cullen picked things up, it came as no surprise to Moira that Rosie was similar in that.  Moira was lounging against a tree base with Pup’s head in her lap.  Rosie dropped out of her form, walking over to sit across from Moira in the sun-warmed grass.

“He’s not what everyone thinks he is,” Rosie blurted with a frown, “Devon is a nice man.  He’s been dealt many hardships in his life and because of those hardships…some…rather unkind rumors circulate him.”

“Since you’re in a talkative mood,” Moira smirked, “why don’t you tell me more?  What kind of rumors, for one?”

“That he’s a womanizer…” Rosie grunted.

“Is he?”

“No,” Rosie shook her head as she plucked grass from beneath her, “his mother is…erm…not as reputable…”

“Ah,” Moira leaned her head back against the bark.  “ _Her_ reputation bled over upon her son.  I see.”

Rosie nodded, “yes!  And nobody believes that!  They all believe that every girl he’s ever been around or even been…alone with…is another conquest!  Ugh!  I _hate_ small minded folk.”

“And they are _everywhere_ , unfortunately.  Was his father…?”

“Hm?  Oh…Devon’s father died during the Blight.  His mother had no titles or money since her husband owned their farm.  She…she couldn’t find _any_ work so she turned to… _that._   Prostitution.  It paid the bills and kept Devon and his younger sister fed.  Then Abony, she died.  She fell very ill and passed suddenly leaving Devon and his mother in mourning.  So Devon joined the templars.  Since then he’s been able to pay his mother’s bills and keep their tiny home from the tax collectors.”

“Before you stab me for asking, _could_ there be any truth to the rumors of his…promiscuity?”

Rosie glared back at her, “no…I’m fairly certain there’s not.  The only girl he…” Rosie sighed and looked away, “there _was_ a girl he seemed to like.  But when she found out, she tried to say he was…aggressive with her.  That she narrowly escaped him.  It was a fat lie.”

“And you know this for certain, Rosie?” Moira felt a bit a dread.

Rosie’s cheeks pinkened, “I do.”

“…how?”

“H—he was…with _me_ that night.  We weren’t doing _that_ , but…we were star gazing and talking when she supposedly was manhandled by him.  Bran found out from that surly bitch and knew Devon had been spending time with me.  Bran and Devon got into a scuffle that wound up with both of them bruised and bloodied…”

“Bran means well.”

“I know he does,” Rosie dropped her gaze.  “He’s my brother.  He’s been my protector since I was barely seven years old.  Mum and pa died in the Fifth Blight.  That left Mia and Bran to raise me.  Mia’s…never really had the life she should have.  Because she had to take care of us.  And Bran has always been our protector, our guardian.  Cullen sent us a large percentage of his pay every month.  Mia never told Bran nor I that’s where the money came from, but I knew.  Cully never gave up on us.  Even if he couldn’t come home or write.  Bran…had to be told later on.  When Cully was coming home for the first time since…everything.  He was angry at Cullen.  He believed Cullen had abandoned us.  Until Mia set him straight…”

Moira’s heart warmed at that.  Even when his life was in shambles and chaos, he sent his family money to support them.  With a hum, she sat up, “well then.  I think it’s time for Cullen to have a chat with this Ser Devon.”

Rosie’s face went ashen, “what?!  N—no!  He can’t!  If Cullen—”

“If Devon is the man you say he is, Cullen will find out.  If he _isn’t_ , then you will know for certain that he’s a lying snake.  Either way, you _know_ as well as I that Cullen _will_ vet this man.  You are not only his sister, Rosie…you’re his _baby sister_.  If anything were to befall you that he could have prevented?”

“…he’d hate himself more than he already does,” Rosie sighed, surprising Moira.  Rosie snorted at Moira’s expression, “what?  You think I didn’t know that?  I know my brother.  He was a very lively, enthusiastic, and passionate boy.  When he came home…he was broken.  Torn apart by something dark.  I heard of Kinloch then Kirkwall and I found out more on my own.  I know there is _so much_ he’ll never tell us.  But just from what I’ve learned…Maker, but he was _strong_ to endure and still come out somewhat whole.”

“He is amazing, isn’t he?” Moira smiled fondly, “my father was his Knight-Commander at Kinloch.”

Rosie gasped, “really?”

Moira nodded, “Rosie, let Cullen meet Devon.  You won’t regret it.”

Rosie gnawed on her thumbnail nervously before she nodded, “I…suppose I can’t stop him from meeting Devon.  If it’s on _my_ terms maybe it will go better than I fear.”

“You should go finish your drills.  Use this energy you have buzzing around in your head to fuel your movements and to focus yourself.”

Rosie jumped to her feet and moved back to the cleared area.  She did as she was instructed.  Moira watched as the young woman’s face grew determined and she flowed through her moves.  When she added her own flare to them, Moira knew her work was done.  Rosie would be one hell of a fine fighter.  She was already creating her own style to her movements.  A uniqueness that would be Rosalie Rutherford’s alone.  Just as Moira’s was her own.  Pup snorted on her lap, rolling over for belly rubs.  Moira happily ran her fingers over his exposed belly. 

Both women trudged back over the small wooden path back to the farmhouse.  They were nearly to the edge of the Rutherford property when the sounds of raised masculine voices caught both of their attentions.  Rosie shared a concerned look before they both ran the rest of the way.  Rounding the house, they found Ser Devon standing out front with Bran being held back physically by Cullen.  Devon was wiping a bit of blood from his lips, spitting it out to the side.  Rosie gasped and without thought, rushed to his side.  Bran yelled at her to stay away from Devon.  Moira sighed and ran her hand over her hair as she approached the situation far calmer than most of the gathered people. 

“What’s going on?” Moira asked firmly and loudly enough to be heard by all.

Bran snarled, “ _he_ showed up asking after Rosie!  Of all the stupid, fucking—”

“Bran!” Cullen snapped, trying to somewhat control his brother, “calm down!”

“No!  He’s a damned bastard!!  He’s a womanizing jackass who wants to put Rosie into his fucking harem!!”

Cullen’s eyes narrowed and turned to Devon.  Moira rolled her eyes, “now Branson, you don’t know if that’s true now do you?”

“What?!” Bran turned his ire on Moira.  “You don’t know him!  I do!  Stay out of this, Moira!”

Cullen’s anger flared, “I will tolerate _many_ things, Bran.  But I will not tolerate you speaking to my future wife that way!”

“Will all you just calm down?!” Moira finally snapped.  She was feeling her stress rise as well as her own temper.  “Bran, _think_.  Would a man _only_ interested in bedding a woman show up where he _knows_ he is unwanted to ask after her?  There are far easier targets, I would assume.  Also, aren’t you just presuming his intentions?  Have you thought the _ask_ the man what he wishes with Rosie?  Just because his mother’s reputation is ill favored, doesn’t make _him_ the same.”

Devon looked up sharply at that, shock on his face.  Rosie looked guiltily at him, “I…may have told her a bit about you…”

“I see,” Devon stated, stepped back from Rosie respectfully.

Rosie shifted nervously, wringing her hands, “I know it wasn’t my place, Dev—”

“No, Rosie…don’t apologize.  You did nothing wrong.  I—I shouldn’t have come here, forgive me,” Devon bowed before turning to leave.  Rosie looked ready to cry.  She was going to let him walk away.  Moira growled.

“Cul…” She stated, flicking a loaded glance at him and then at Rosie.

He looked as though he were going to fight her on this but, “Ser Devon, was it?”

Devon paused and turned to look at Cullen, “yes, ser.”

“You and I…let’s have a chat shall we?”

Devon raised a brow and looked to Bran who looked ready to slug his elder sibling in the face.  “Forgive me, ser…but I’m a bit wary on what said _chat_ will entail.  Will I be walking into another right hook?  Or will it be a left hook this time?”

Moira bit back a smirk at his saucy remark.  It would be ill placed and badly received right now.  Rosie looked at Cullen imploringly and Moira watched as he beloved caved under her big brown eyes.  He sighed, “just talk.”

“You can’t be serious?!” Bran exploded.

“Bran, enough!  I wish to hear him out _first_ before judging him.  It is only right to hear his side as well!  Or shall I simply allow your prejudice to color all of my actions?  Would that be honorable or fair of me?”

Bran opened his mouth only to snap it shut with a rather unhappy sound.  He spun on his heel and marched into the farmhouse, slamming the screen door harshly as he went.  Moira only then noticed Blythe, Mia, and the boys in the windows watching on.  Cullen motioned for Devon to follow him.  Ser Devon turned to go after Cullen but was stopped by Rosie.  He paused to look at her before he chanced a gentle kiss to her forehead.  Rosie looked up at him in pleased surprise before he flashed her a quick smile and trudged after Cullen. 

Moira moved to pull Rosie with her.  She led the youngest Rutherford to the cabin she and Cullen shared instead of to the main house.  She was in no mood to tolerate Bran accosting Rosie.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the wonderful wishes for our anniversary! I'm quite pleased with my project thus far. I'm writing an Alien vs Predator, more so a Predator-verse, fanfiction for my hubby. He LOVES the entire series from Alien to the newest Predator film. We both do, really. But he's seriously like a huge aficionado of it ALL. He's a HUGE horror movie buff. So I thought I'd write him a fanfic for his birthday. So, I'll be posting it EVENTUALLY once I have finished up what I want to get done to share with him. ;)


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter Twenty-Four  
** **These Dreams**

Cullen walked out toward the barn in the far back of the property.  He shoved open the doors and strode inside, lighting the lamps as he went.  He dragged over a large wooden spool like object.  He gestured at the other man to sit.  Ser Devon hesitated before he moved to sit stiffly on the wooden surface large enough around to be a sort of tea-table top.  Cullen moved to stand a few feet from Ser Devon.  Facing the other man, Cullen held his arms crossed over his chest, his feet shoulder length apart.  He regarded the younger male for a few long, tense few minutes.  The intention was to see how long it would take for the younger templar to crack under pressure.  Time ticked by and the silence weighed down upon the barn in a thick aura.  Cullen finally let a tiny smirk form.  Not easy to break; that was actually a good sign. 

“I suppose I should start with asking who you are,” Cullen stated, watching as the other man shifted just barely on the makeshift chair. 

Ser Devon breathed in deeply and then out, “my name is Devon Crawston.  My father was a famer in Lothering before,” the man dropped his gaze and then raised his eyes back, his resolve returned, “before the Blight.  He caught the Blight.  Mother took me and ran.  We wound up here in South Reach.  My father was hardly rich; practically destitute.  My mother had no money.  None would hire her.”

“Why’s that?” Cullen cut in, wanting to get _every_ possible detail.

Ser Devon’s eyes hardened, “half _‘knife-ear’_ as they called her.  Not enough of either to be of worth.  The _only_ work she could find was prostitution.  Too many men with sick tastes and my mother isn’t _homely_ either.  So she did what she could to keep a roof over our heads and food in my belly.”

Cullen raised his hand to rub his face.  He nodded slowly, “all right.  And the claims of womanizing ways?”

Devon made a sound of disgust, “not that any would _believe_ me…but I’ve never even _lain_ with a woman.  When one of the girls who seemed to have… _ideas_ of me, found out whom my affections truly laid with…she spread the rumor that I cornered her in the stables at the back of the village.  That I touched her and made propositions upon her.  None of this ever happened.  I wasn’t even _in_ the village that night.  I was with—” he stopped abruptly and hung his head, “I was stargazing with the lovely lass I truly cared for instead.  But to clear my name would sully _her_ even though I never touched her.  I would never, _ever_ taint her.  She’s…so far beyond what I could ever deserve.  So I…I didn’t tell Branson that I wasn’t even in the village.  And then he and I…came to blows.  He’s hated me since.”

Cullen frowned.  He was piecing the story together and when he realized what this younger man was saying, it suddenly clicked.  The woman he spoke of, the one he cared for…was Rosie.  The shame in the boy’s tone, the way he refused to drag Rosie’s name through the mud even if by association with him?  Cullen cleared his throat, gaining the man’s attention once more. 

“You didn’t deny the accusations outright to Bran so that you would keep Rosie’s name clear?”

Devon grimaced and nodded, “yes, ser…”

“What rank do you hold, knight?”

Devon blinked at that, “I…uh…Knight-Lieutenant, ser.”

“How long have you served?”

“…eight years since I became a Templar, ser.”

“What circle do you serve in?”

“I _did_ serve shortly at Kinloch Hold three years ago, before then I mostly was bounced from Chantry to Chantry.  But then I asked to be sent to the local Chantry here as I…did not agree with many of the ideals of the Circle.”

Cullen felt a strange feeling bubble up.  He cleared his throat, “I served there, Kinloch Hold.”

Devon blinked, “you were a templar?”

Cullen nodded, “yes.”

“I should have known from the way your hold yourself,” Devon sighed.

“I must ask, what _are_ your intentions with our Rosie?”

Devon sat back up straight, “if I would be permitted, I would court her properly with the intention of marriage.  Only an idiot would not see the beauty, intelligence, and determination that Rosie embodies.  She…she is so unlike other women.  I cannot imagine a finer wife a man could have.”

“It’s not up to _me_ to give you permission to court Rosalie.  Nor is it within Branson’s right.  The only one who can claim that right is Rosalie herself.  We are her brothers and as such, it is our duty to protect her.  However, it is also our duty to give her the strength and encouragement to make her own decisions.  That being said, with all due respect to a fellow templar…my wife to be and I know how to gut a man in more ways than you can possibly imagine and I’ve grown quite proficient in digging graves…”

Devon’s face paled ever so slightly, “I have no intention of ever hurting her, Ser Rutherford.  I swear it.”

“I believe you,” Cullen held his hand out toward Devon, “if Rosie chooses to allow you to court her, I shall back her decision, Ser Devon.”

Devon rose to his feet and took Cullen’s hand.  He smiled back at Cullen amicably, “if she’ll have me, I swear upon the Maker that I will do everything in my power to make her happy.”

“That’s all I can ask for.”

Cullen walked with Devon back toward the house.  When they were within sight of the front porch, the front door opened and Bran strode out, leaning on the porch railing.  He glared at Devon. 

“So he’s alive…?”

“Drop it, Branson,” Cullen snapped curtly.

“That’s it?!  He just…gets to schmooze his way into Rosie’s knickers?!”

Devon clenched his jaw, “I never—”

“It’s not your decision,” Cullen stated calmly yet firmly.  “Whoever Rosie allows to court her is _her_ choice.  Not yours, not mine.”

“…do you really mean that, Cully?” Rosie asked from where she’d quietly emerged from his and Moira’s cabin.  Cullen turned to nod at her. 

“You are an adult and therefore should be treated as such.”

Rosie ran over and tackled Cullen with a hug.  He caught her without stumbling and hugged her back.  She whispered, “thank you.”

So that only she could hear him, he lowered his voice, “if he _ever_ does anything you _don’t_ like or feel comfortable with or he hurts you…you tell me right away.  I may not be able to tell you who to court or marry…but I _can_ still break kneecaps with ease.”

Rosie laughed and pulled back, wiping a few tears, “you got it.”

The smaller Rutherford stepped around her eldest brother and grinned at Devon.  The templar’s answering smile was just as bright.  She darted over to him and he plucked her up, spinning her around in his arms.  Rosie’s giggle echoed around the yard. 

“So?  Rosalie Rutherford, will you let me court you?” Devon asked shyly, despite the fact she was still in his arms.

“Absolutely!”

“Maker, I was praying you’d say that!” Devon laughed with her.

Cullen moved toward Bran and stepped up beside him.  He leaned over, “look how happy she is.”

Bran frowned deeply, “Cul…what if he tries to _hurt_ her or take advantage of her?”

“That’s why she has brothers, knucklehead,” Cullen grunted.  “We can’t decide her life for her.  Do you know _why_ Ser Devon never outright denied the accusations you asked him about?”

Bran’s face darkened at the memory, “no.  I assume because he _did_ it.”

“He was stargazing with Rosie that night.  In order to keep her name from being sullied by association and calling her out as his witness…he instead let you and others believe whatever you chose to believe.  For _Rosie’s_ sake.  Bran, open your eyes, he is _in love_ with our Rosie.”

“Did he _tell_ you that?”

“He didn’t have to.  Just as I never had to be told you love Blythe.  Or Emerson loving Mia.”

Bran shook his head, “I don’t like this.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Cullen sighed, leaning on the railing beside his brother while Rosie and Devon took a walk, hand-in-hand.

“What makes you think _you_ deserve to make these calls anyways?  Pa would have—”

“ _Pa_ would have done as Cullen did tonight,” Mia stated from the doorway as she joined her brothers.  “He was a reasonable man, Bran.  Cullen is right; look at her.  Does she look like a girl who’s terrified of that man’s unwanted reputation?  His mother’s deeds should not color his own.  Or should your mistakes be held upon Aaron’s head?”

Bran grumbled under his breath before he reached up with both hands and worried his hair.  “Is it so terrible that I worry for my baby sister?”

“Of course not, silly man!” Mia huffed, “Maker knows I worry over the lot of you.  But you _must_ learn to let her be her own woman too.  Just as I had to let go of each of you to learn your ways too.  Not that it was easy, mind you!  I swear the lot of you is _trying_ to make me gray early!”

Cullen chuckled, letting his head hang forward.  Bran watched a bit longer before he turned, “I think I’ll go help Blythe with supper…”

Cullen watched him go.  Mia sidled up alongside him and leaned on his arm.  He smiled at his elder sister and turned his gaze back to where Rosie and Devon were sitting at the edge of the property, talking.  He reached over and hugged Mia.  She sighed and leaned her head on his shoulder. 

“Pa would be proud of you, Cul.”

“You think so?”

“I _know_ so.  He was so proud of you when you left to become a templar.  He would be very pleased with the man you’ve become.  Especially because of what you’ve faced.”

“You…I still don’t think I can…”

“I didn’t ask, Cul,” Mia rolled her eyes.  “And I never will.  Whatever it was, you’re alive and you’re _home_.  That’s all that matters.  I do have to ask…did you at least tell Moira?”

“…yes.”

“Good.  There should never be secrets or anything left untold between a husband and wife.  Secrets lead to distrust which leads to heartbreak.”

“When did you get so wise?” He smirked teasingly.

Mia turned to smack him with an annoyance squeal.  “I’m the wisest of us all, I’ll have you know!  You blasted fool!”

Cullen laughed at her pathetic attempt at a hit, “you hit like a girl.”

“I _am_ a girl!”

“No, you’re a woman.  A woman should hit like one!  Not a little girl!”

“Oh you!”

“Are you abusing my husband to be, Mia?” Moira drawled with a grin as she moved toward the porch.

“Yes I am!  And he deserves it too!”

“Oh, well then…by all means,” Moira motioned for her to continue.

Cullen gasped playfully, “so just like that you throw me to the wolves?!”

“I’m a wolf now too?!” Mia squawked.

“ _All_ woman are wolves!  You even attack in packs!” Cullen barely ducked the swing at his head that time.  Mia growled as she attempted again only to have him dodge her easily once more.

“Momma?”

Mia paused as Michael stepped outside, “yes, my sweet?”

“Aunty Blythe says dinner is ready, and she set an extra place for Ser Devon.”

“Oh, wonderful!  We’ll be right in.”

Michael stepped back inside.  Cullen smirked and stuck his tongue out at Mia who returned the petulant expression.  Moira snorted and nodded over her shoulder.

“Should I go get the two love birds?”

“Would you?” Mia asked her.

“I’ll be back shortly,” Moira smiled and turned to fetch the two farther away.  Cullen’s one arm slid over the railing as he stood up and squeezed Mia affectionately. 

“Shall we head inside?”

“Yes, let’s,” Mia agreed as they both walked inside.  Bran sat with little Elijah on his knee.  Blythe, along with Aaron and Michael’s help, had set the table.  Elijah was playing with a small wooden toy.  Bran’s brow was scrunched with his troubled thoughts.  Cullen wasn’t quite sure what to do.  He was used to reprimanding soldiers and templars beneath his rank.  His brother was neither under his command nor a soldier.  Mia pat his arm and moved to sit near Bran.  “If you keep glaring at the floor so hard, you’ll bore a hole through it.  He’s joining us for supper, Bran.  Can you be civil and at least _try_ to give him the slightest of chances?”

Bran lifted his hand and pinched the bridge of his nose, “you can’t simply expect me to suddenly _like_ him and be quite peachy with him.”

“No, but I expect you to at least keep the animosity level down for the sake of our sister and the children.  Can you at _least_ do that?” Mia’s voice moved into that mother-hen tone that broached no argument even though she did, technically, _ask._  

Bran groaned, “yes, yes!  All right?  Happy now?”

“No, not in the slightest with _that_ tone but it’ll just have to do, I suppose,” Mia rose with a huff and spun, her skirt hitting Bran’s leg as she moved away from him.  “Really!  I don’t know _how_ to deal with you sometimes!  You’re so hot-heated and sure of yourself that you fail to see when you’re obviously _wrong_.”

“How am I wrong in this?!” Bran stood abruptly, tucking Elijah safely into his arms. 

“That’s it,” Blythe slammed her ladle down.  She angrily untied her apron and stalked past Mia, grabbing Bran’s ear.  “Set Elijah down and come with me.”

“W—what—” Bran yelped but set his son down carefully before being all-but-dragged out the back of the house.  The clucking chickens were the first sound to reach them through the back door before Blythe’s muffled voice raised.  Cullen winced in sympathy for his brother.  He’d never seen Blythe quite so…upset before.  Mia snickered as she motioned the boys over to the living room to play with their smaller cousin. 

“That sounded nearly evil, Mia,” Cullen stated as he settled on the floor with Elijah.  The small boy happily crawled into his lap to play with his toys quietly. 

“Oh, you have no idea,” Mia grinned.

The front door opened and Rosie stepped inside, followed by Ser Devon with Moira and Pup taking up the rear.  Rosie scanned for Branson, “where’s—?”

“Blythe,” Mia motioned to the back door.  That was apparently all she needed to say.  Rosie’s face took on an ‘oh’ expression.  Mia smiled up at them, “thank you for staying for supper, Ser Devon.  I do apologize for all the ugliness you’ve had to endure thus far.”

“No, please…I…” Devon sighed, “I can’t say it’s not well deserved.”

Cullen noticed Bran entering the house quietly, looking rather well-dressed-down.  But apparently he was the only one.

Devon continued, “I should have told Branson the truth _then_.  I just…I couldn’t let anyone think Rosie had been…you know…anything but the proper lady.  And people in this village _will_ talk.  My name?  I care nothing for what they say of me.  But I couldn’t let them talk of Rosie like that.  So I stupidly let Branson believe whatever…”

Mia sighed, “we all make mistakes, Ser Devon.  It’s only natural.  We’re all the Maker’s creations and we all are incredibly fallible.  It’s what we _do_ with those mistakes that matters.  You became a templar to serve people, am I right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And do you care for our Rosie, Ser Devon?” Mia asked softly, tilting her head.

“More than measure,” Devon answered with conviction.

A soft curse came from Bran, making Mia startle slightly.  Devon looked over where Bran stood by the back door, rubbing his neck ashamedly.  Moira caught sight of this and turned around, covering her mouth as though to stifle a laugh.  Cullen shot her an amused look of warning.  She bit her lip, trying so hard not to blurt what she was thinking. 

“My wife Blythe is quite the cook, Ser Devon.  You should be honored to eat her cooking,” Bran grumbled, “and…thank you.  For not dragging Rosie’s name through the mud.  I still don’t like this.  I don’t _know_ you that well.  But…if you’re telling the absolute truth, then…I’ll just have to get used to you.”

“I…that’s all I can really ask for, Ser Branson…”

“Oh for the love of…just Bran.  We’re not bloody nobles out here.”

Moira snorted again, getting her a look from Bran.

“And _you_ quit yucking it up over there at my expense!  Some sister you are!” Bran groused and turned to flop into his usual chair at the table. 

Moira grinned, “you know I can’t help it!  Did you know you and Cullen _both_ rub your necks while nervous or embarrassed?”

Cullen growled, “Moira…please…”

“It’s so adorable!” Moira giggled.

Blythe smirked from where she walked behind Bran, “isn’t it though?  Cullen does that too?  Aww…”

“Maker, yes!  Whenever he gets bashful or—”

Cullen jumped up and quickly rushed over.  Moira squealed and ducked him as he moved to grab her.  He saw the spark of challenge in her eyes.  A rush of heat went through him.  He knew what that look would mean for him later.  He snatched her and yanked her to him. 

“Are you through with teasing me before my family and guest?”

Moira pursed her lips, “hmmm…maybe.  Depends.  What do I get out of this?”

“Do you _wish_ for my family to see what happens when I tickle you?”

She glared up at him, “you wouldn’t dare!”

“I would.”

“Are you _both_ done flirting?” Rosie asked with a an eyeroll.

“Never,” Cullen smiled to which Moira returned. 

Emerson came through the door then, “I’m home!”

“Papa!” Aaron and Michael charged for him.  Emerson greeted the boys as he always did, lifting one under each large arm.  He stood up, “oh, Ser Devon.  What brings you by?”

“I, um, came to see Rosie, Ser Abrams.”

“Oh?” Emerson glanced at Bran who refused to meet his gaze, “well then, nice to have you here.  Will you be staying to sup with us?”

“Yes, darling, he is,” Mia answered for him.  “You’re just in time, dear.  Go ahead and wash up.  Blythe made fish soup tonight.”

“Oh…Maker bless your soul, Blythe.  I’ve been hankering for some good fish soup,” Emerson chuckled setting his boys down. 

Cullen had a thought in that moment.  He was surrounded entirely by family right then.  The chances of Devon becoming his brother-in-law seemed quite high from what he’d witnessed thus far.  Suddenly, the idea of returning to the Templar Recovery village seemed…less urgent.  Less necessary.  He could see himself living here with Moira and his entire family.  Raising his child or children with their cousins running amuck.  Could he…could he really _do_ that?  Was that…possible?  Now he had a new dream growing within the belly of the woman he loved.  What more could he possibly ask for?

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got super sidetracked by life. My hubby and I have decided to try for a third baby...meaning, I had to get my IUD out. That wasn't so bad. Everything AFTER was not happy. Then with bday prep and all sorts of mental and writer's blocks...I finally got around to posting this!! The last chapter will be posted right after this too. I won't make you wait any longer. As is, I'm semi-okay with these last two chapters.


	35. Chapter 35

**Finale  
** **Holding Heaven in Your Arms**

A letter came to the farmstead a few days later.  Moira sat on the railing of the farmhouse porch.  Cullen paced the deck as he read the letter.  She couldn’t tell if it was good or bad.  His face was carefully blank.  Everyone else was busy with duties or children; leaving just the two of them to have a few hours alone.  Her eyes traced his path as he made yet another pass of the deck and flipped to the next page.  He faltered for only a breath before picking up his pace once more.  She released a slow breath, feeling her own nerves begin to fray.  Maybe it was the hormones, but she was beginning to grow irritated.  Then Cullen stopped and didn’t move.  His back was to her.  The hand that held the long letter in his hand dropped to his side.  Moira turned, dangling her feet down toward the porch. 

“Cul?”

He tapped his free hand on his other thigh, “Hawke was successful it would seem.  He found the mage who happened to be a magister of like-mindedness with Dorian in Tevinter.  The magister apparently already intended to take the task of finding Solas and stopping him upon themselves.  They agreed to call upon the Inquisitor should the need arise.  However, they were already forming their own initiative to track Solas.”

“…so…you’re no longer bound to that responsibility?”

“So it would seem,” Cullen breathed softly, “Rylen has been running the village smoothly as well.  In fact, he and Adelaide met with the Inquisitor as he was stopping in.  They’ve agreed that I…am to take an extended sabbatical.  Divine Victoria has also sent her sanction to this along with…a stipend…”

Moira watched his back, confusion and a bit of curiosity tugged at her.  She cleared her throat, “a stipend?  Whatever would you need a stipend for if you’re upon sabbatical?”

Cullen snorted once, “a retirement.  It should be arriving within the week…”

Moira swallowed.  The Divine was sanctioning his sabbatical and giving him a retirement stipend atop that?  Did…did that mean they were basically telling him to only come back to volunteer?  Not run the camp?  What did all of this mean?  And most importantly of all…what was Cullen feeling about this?  He was being very careful with his emotions.  He wasn’t giving her any indication to his feelings on the matter.  She worried her lip between her teeth.

“Was that…was that all?”

“Yes,” he answered.

“Cullen, love, you’re…you’re worrying me.”

Cullen turned around then, a huge grin on his face.  She felt so very lost.  He was _happy_?  He walked over to her and dropped the sheets of paper and planted a searing kiss upon her lips.  His hands dug into her plaited hair.  She couldn’t stop the moan if she’d tried.  Her hands fisted in his shirt front as she slid her knees along either side of his hips.  He groaned low into her open mouth while he tongue swept around hers.  Maker but the man knew how to kiss a woman.  She was already soaking through her smalls and he’d only _kissed_ her thus far.  He broke the kiss, much to her displeasure.  She pouted up at him as he leaned back to cup her face in his hands.

“This is…I cannot even begin to express how joyous this is.  I had begun to hope that perhaps we could try to find a way to stay longer.  I would love nothing more than to raise our babe here, where their cousins are.  Surrounded by family.  Now it looks like more than a possibility…” Cullen frowned then, “but, of course…only if you desire the same.  I—I should have asked you what you wanted first.”

“I love it here, honestly.  I’ve never had a real home, Cullen.  Not until _you_.”

“Then…would you like staying here?  We could build ourselves our own home on the property.  Properly sized for our children and a few more mabari…”

Moira giggled at that hopeful, boyish, coy smile he gave her.  “Of course, Pup will need some companionship as he heads into his twilight years as well.  I would love that, Cullen.  Truly.”

Cullen beamed at her.  Her eyes teared from the pure joy and elation he exuded.  How could she deny him this?  He’d been almost a different man since they’d arrived here.  He wasn’t stressed, exhausted, or weighed down by duty.  He was a natural born leader, yes.  But here…he was a brother, an uncle, and a husband for all intents and purposes.  He’d already helped Bran mend fences and fix the barn.  He helped Mia pick and shuck corn.  Cullen picked up eggs with Blythe and wrestled in the yard with the boys.  He worked just as hard here as he did in the village.  But it was…an easier life here.  He wasn’t responsible for making the tough calls on how to handle a bad scuffle.  Whether or not to exile or punish someone who’d done wrong.  He didn’t have to _fight_ here.  Not unless a rogue bear or wolf got too close. She watched him with pure love in her heart. 

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you…what did you discuss with Hawke on the porch all those weeks ago?” Moira asked.  It had pestered her ever since but there had never been a good time to bring it up. 

Cullen rubbed his neck, looking down, “I…thanked him.  For keeping you alive and bringing you back in one piece.  I owed him that much.”

Moira watched his lips thin, there was more.  “What else?”

He chuckled drily, “you know me too well…”

“I would hope so.  You _are_ the father of my child.”

He smiled at that before his face fell again, “you know my qualms run deep with that man, Moira.  I…we will never be friends.  It is never going to be possible.  But he…he did tell me something.  Something you said to him…”

She felt her throat dry, “and—and that was?”

“He told me of how you told him…that you never stopped loving me.  How you so vehemently defended me to him over Solona.  Even though I still don’t understand why or _how_ you would do that…” he sighed, looking up at her with those fathomless honey-whiskey eyes, “he also told me what he overheard you telling Cass.  He also told me, in no uncertain terms, that should I ever break your heart like that again…he’d come and personally take you away from me.”

“He did _what?!”_ Moira jumped down, fire sparking in her eyes.  That son of a bitch! 

“I told him that if I ever was stupid enough to break your heart like that again, I’d not only beg him to take you from me…but to run me through as well.”

Moira froze at the seriousness of his words and tone.  He _meant_ it.  She stared up into his face; still with her shock.  “You…?”

“I hardly deserve your love as is, but if I were to ever do that to you again…I would rather die at the hands of _Hawke_ than to ever face a life knowing that I _hurt you_.”

“Oh…Cul…” Moira stepped into his arms then, hugging him as tightly as she could.  He held her back and she breathed him in.  “You seem to be forgetting that _I_ hurt _you_ as well.  I would rather die a thousand deaths than to live one life without you.”

He buried his face in her hair, pulling her tighter to him.  It was bordering on painful but she couldn’t give a lesser damn.  She clung to him with everything she had in her.  “Marry me.”

“I already said yes,” she giggled.

“No, now.  Today or tomorrow.  I cannot wait to have you as my _wife_.  To take you in my bed as my _wife_.”

Moira blushed lightly at the heat in his voice.  She breathed a simple, “yes.  Let’s go the Chantry tonight.  We cannot do this without your siblings there.  They’ll murder us.”

Cullen laughed into her neck, “you’re right.  That wouldn’t be a good ending to a lovely day.”

“No, no it wouldn’t.”

“I’ll go speak with Mia now,” Cullen leaned back, kissing her nose before he turned to walk away. 

Moira stooped to pick up the letter and paused as she stared at one of them.  She lifted the paper and began to read.

_You’ve given far more than enough, Cullen.  Consider this our gift to you.  Marry Moira, make lots of strong babes, and raise that damnable mabari pack you’ve always wanted.  And may the Maker keep you ever in his blessing.  Leli and I both agreed that this was the least we could do for you.  Rylen and Adelaide (did you know they were romantic?!) both will happily lead the village in your stead.  If you ever desire to return there, you’ll still have your cabin and whatever belongings you desire to keep there.  I hope this all is agreeable to you.  I know how much of a blasted workaholic you can be._

_And if Moira reads this, I’m leaving one of a dearest friends in your hands.  I know you’ll cherish him and care for him as he should be.  His demons are many and they still plague him.  But in your presence, they diminish.  I know yours do as well.  Whatever he does for you, know it is with his whole heart.  Cullen_ never _does anything halfway.  I assure you of that.  Josie and I look forward to visiting and hopefully our little ones can play together someday.  I can think of no better friendship than that.  Can you?_

Moira looked up, finding Cullen leaning in the doorway with a broad, knowing smile.  She dropped the papers and rushed him.  He caught her leaping jump and spun with her as she kissed him thoroughly.  He _left_ it there _knowing_ she’d read it as she picked it up.  Who knew _who_ after all?  When he set her down again, she adjusted her leggings as they went to find Mia together.  After all…this life of theirs would be met hand in hand from now on.  That was to be the way of it. 

They would spend the rest of their years there in South Reach.  They would build another house, just a bit smaller than the main farmhouse.  Cullen would never be called upon to aid or fight with whatever battle was to be waged.  Their children would grow up alongside their cousins.  They would have three; two little girls with Cullen’s curls and a little boy with Moira’s eyes.  Cullen would take up mabari breeding and become the best-known breeder in Thedas alongside Emerson who would gladly leave his brewery to his sons.  Bran and Elijah would take over the farm completely, albeit with the families’ help whenever needed.  Rosie and Devon would have two children of their own.  Devon would leave lyrium behind and Cullen helped him through his withdrawals.  Moira at their sides to help ease away from the painful addiction.  Rosie would use her skills she learned from Moira to defend against a bandit attack just down the road from the house and save Mia as well as her children’s lives.  She would be scarred, however.  Her cheek forever bearing the slash she received from a dull blade.  Devon would then go out and hunt all the bandits in the area and return home, blood splattered and victorious.  Mia found Rosie’s skills impressive and was quick to thank her younger sister.

When Cullen and Moira had watched their grandchildren grow nearly to adults, they would both pass away peacefully in their sleep.  He went first by only a few hours.  To pave the way for his wife, of course.  And she joined him not long after where Pup awaited them both at the end of the road alongside both sets of their parents, Mia, Emerson, and Max.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last paragraph of this makes my eyes feel on the edge of tears. But there you go! A bittersweet ending. Much love to you ALL!! Thanks for sticking by me and through this story!! I plan to write some more stuff. But it may take me a bit. I'm kind of in a stint between my action/horror story I'm working on for my hubby and some steamy Thedas fiction again. Until next time! C'est la vie!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Wandering Dream: Feel the Current Within](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20490134) by [Kemvee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kemvee/pseuds/Kemvee)




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